


i was nineteen (call me)

by queervengers (nonsexualandsilly)



Series: nineteen [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Awkward Family Dinners, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Dirty Talk, First Time, Kink Meme, M/M, Phone Sex, but shifted timeframe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-24
Updated: 2013-10-18
Packaged: 2017-12-09 08:55:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 30,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/772373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nonsexualandsilly/pseuds/queervengers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Oh yeah, baby boy, you want to feel my dick inside of you?” The guy on the other end of the line sounds out of breath.<br/>Stiles closes his Psych 2 essay and opens tumblr. “Mmm, yeah, love your big cock in my ass, Daddy.” He rolls his eyes and scrolls down his dash. Mm, shirtless Sam Winchester. “Want you to fuck me hard.”</p><p>or: the one where stiles is a phone sex operator and derek keeps dialing the wrong number (and then everything eventually goes horribly wrong)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> HEADS UP: this fic is on indefinite/possibly permanent hiatus. i know it's approximately the shittiest thing to do ever, but i've moved on from sterek and teen wolf in general, and i've tried to write this without wanting to and GOD does it come out shitty and that's not fair to you guys. if anyone wants to know what would've happened, i'm happy to share, but it's just. probably not gonna get written, at least not for a long time.
> 
> If you're wondering how a fic about casual phone sex can be 30,000 words long, well. It ends up being a lot more than that. If you want a more detailed summary that's a little more spoilery, there's one in the end notes.
> 
>  
> 
> Once upon a time this was just a kink meme fill (prompt in the end notes). Then it got out of hand. Really, really out of hand.
> 
> (*whispers* _it was only a fic, how did it end up like this. IT WAS ONLY A FIC. IT WAS ONLY A FIC._ )

            “Oh yeah, baby boy, you want to feel my dick inside of you?” The guy on the other end of the line sounds out of breath.

            Stiles closes his Psych 2 essay and opens tumblr. “Mmm, yeah, love your big cock in my ass, Daddy.” He rolls his eyes and scrolls down his dash. Mm, shirtless Sam Winchester. “Want you to fuck me hard.”

            About six months ago, Stiles had been looking around on Craigslist, trying to get a job to help with tuition (or just find a new couch for his apartment), and he’d seen an ad for job availability at a phone sex line, and, well, Stiles likes getting off. Stiles likes talking. Stiles likes getting paid. So getting paid (really well) to talk dirty a couple hours a day? Seemed like the thing to do, at the time.

            Of course, he’d expected to find it arousing or whatever, but it turns out asking strange men to fuck him like there’s no tomorrow is less a chance to get off and more a chance to get ahead on his academics. But hey, it means he can pay the bills, stay on the dean’s list, and help out lonely souls. It’s not a bad way to make a living, even if he has to keep it quiet. (Scott thinks he’s doing tech support for Microsoft. Stiles makes every joke he can about hard drives and making sure everything’s turned on.)

            Now Daddy’s talking about how he’s going to knock Stiles up, breed him so hard, and Stiles is trying _really hard_ not to laugh. He’s been on the phone with this guy for almost forty minutes, and it just keeps getting more ridiculous. But it sounds like the guy’s close to coming, so Stiles does his best to moan and whimper enthusiastically, and it works. The guy hangs up without so much as a thank you, and Stiles sighs before closing tumblr and reopening his paper, because he needs to get this shit done. He’s about to text his boss saying he’s done for the night, but then his phone rings and he thinks about all the video games he wants to buy.

            He answers it, putting on his “sexy” voice. “Hey baby. What can I do for you?”

            “Um, hello?” The guy sounds lost.

            “First time? Don’t worry, I can always take the lead.” He closes his laptop – full focus for newbies, and a great excuse to put off schoolwork even longer.

            “I take it this isn’t Laura’s number.” The guy doesn't sound amused.

            Stiles goes back to his normal voice. Not the first time this has happened. “Nope, no Lauras here. And protip – if a girl gives you her number and it starts with 1-900? It’s not her number.”

            “Shut up, Laura’s my sister and I think she reprogrammed my speed dial.”

            “Ooh, rough. Saran wrap on the toilet.”

             “What?”

             “Appropriate prank revenge. I don’t have any females in the household, but I’ve always wanted to try it. Put saran wrap over the toilet bowl but under the toilet seat –“

             “Yeah, got it, not going to happen.”

             “I’m just saying, it’s genius.”

             “Sure. Anyway, I’m going to hang up now, call her actual number.”

            “Yeah, of course.” There’s a pause. On a whim, Stiles says, “Stiles.”

            “What?”

            “My name is Stiles.”

             “Okay then, Stiles.”

            “Well, bye.”

            “Derek. Is my name,” the guy blurts out.

            Derek hangs up, and Stiles’s face hurts from smiling.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting this the way I posted it on the kink meme itself, which is why the first few chapters are on the shorter side.

A week later, Stiles picks up the phone, does his usual introduction, and all he gets in reply is, “I did it.”

He pauses his game of Tetris. “Excuse me?”

 “The saran wrap on the toilet.”

 “ _Derek?_ ” Stiles spins around in  his desk chair, suddenly feeling like a twelve-year-old girl. “How’d she take it?”

 “Claws. Snarling. Wounds that may scar.” Stiles can hear the smirk in his voice.

 “Worth it?”

 “Very.”

 “Good, good.” There’s silence for a moment. “That the only reason you called?”

 “That, boredom, spare cash.”

 “Well, I won’t complain about your fiscal irresponsibility; it’s like a paid break for me. Do you have any idea how boring faking sex noises gets?”

 “Can’t say I do.” Stiles can hear the smile in Derek’s voice. He’d bet solid money that Derek’s good-looking. Or maybe not; the guy is bored enough that he’s paying someone to just _talk_ to him. But he has a nice voice, and he sounds more socially awkward than he does desperate.

 “Really boring. Totally did not realize what I was signing up for.”

 “It can’t be _that_ bad. And I’ve seen how much you charge.”

 “I mean, it’s not _bad._ My GPA has gone through the roof. But I expected constant boners, not paid homework time, you know?”

 “Are there at least sometimes boners?” Stiles snorts. “I have no idea why I asked that, I’m sorry.”

 “Dude, no boundaries here, I will talk about literally anything. Except maybe where I live, because some of my repeat callers strike me as creepy as fuck. But there’s the occasional boner, because I’m nineteen and a dude, and voices can totally be attractive. So if I get a call from someone with a hot-guy voice who isn’t, like, asking me to pretend I’m a puppy or something, then I go along with it. But that’s, like, one in twenty max, so it’s mostly just doing work. I was doing a chem lab when you called, for instance. Though now I’m not, because talking to you? Is a good break. So thanks for calling.”

 “Where do you – I mean, what are you majoring in?”

 “Dude, I’m a second-semester freshman with my whole life in front of me. I’m not tying myself down until the last possible second.”

 “Do you call everyone dude or am I special?”

 “You’re very special, dear, don’t worry. But, uh, everyone mostly; I talk a lot so it just kind of comes out. It happens.” He shrugs, even though Derek can’t see. “But yeah, I’m not committing to anything for a while. And I can always just stick with this – I make almost two dollars a minute thanks to suckers like you.”

 “How did you even get into this?”

 “Craigslist. I wanted a new couch, and somehow this happened.”

 “I’m guessing you got a good couch, though.”

Stiles thinks about the ancient leather couch in front of their TV. “Not so much. That came from craigslist too. The TV, though? Paid for that using this. Convinced my roommate I got a really good deal on it because I’m in tech support.” Stiles laughs, because Scott’s an idiot sometimes.

 “And how many hard drives have you helped mount this month?”

 “My fair share. You’d be surprised how many men need help there. Just have to help them turn their hardware on, though.” They share a laugh. Stiles likes Derek’s laugh, and makes it his goal to hear it as often as possible. “Seriously, men these days.”

 “Shit, Laura just got home. I have to – “

 “Does she have a bedroom fan?”

 “Yes, why? Stiles, I – “

 “Put glitter on it. Have a good evening, Derek, I’ll talk to you soon?”

 “Yeah,” Derek says gruffly. “Yeah, you will.”


	3. Chapter 3

 “I WILL END YOU,” a female voice declares from the other end of the phone.

 “Who is this and how did you get my number?” It’s his personal phone; Stiles checked. Plus he’s taking the day off because he has two midterms tomorrow _and_ a major paper due. (Of course, right now he’s kicking Scott’s ass at CoD, but his point stands. There is studying to be done.)

 “Do you know how _hard_ it is to get glitter out of clothing?” the woman hisses. “Really hard, Stiles. Really fucking hard.”

 “Is this _Laura_?”

 “Your pranks are _not funny_ , kid. I’m on to you and Derek.”

 “Seriously, how did you get this number?” Stiles is a little bit terrified, and Scott’s looking at him now like Stiles has lost his mind or fucked with the government or something.

 “A few well-placed threats, whatever. Anyway, you make Derek laugh, which isn’t something he does often, so I’m going to let this slide for now, Stiles. But for fuck's sake, find some other way to make him smile. Oh, and I’m giving him this number; I don’t want him spending ridiculous amounts of money on phone sex he’s not even having. Goodbye.”

She hangs up, and Stiles is left dumbfounded. Scott gives him a look. “What was that all about?”

 “I may have gotten involved in someone else’s prank war.” Stiles rolls off the couch and onto the floor. “I’m ordering pizza and then I’m going to go study. You should probably hit the books too.” Stiles heads back into his room and opens his bio textbook to the beginning, cracking open an energy drink to help him get through the day. He’s dragging his highlighter over the majority of a page when his phone buzzes with a new text.

  _This is Derek_ , it reads. _Laura gave me your number. I hope you don’t mind. She says you’re good for me but no more pranks?_

 _dude your sister is cray,_ Stiles responds, grinning.

_I know, trust me. I don’t even know how she got your number._

_apparently she threatened people?? like i said, cray_

_She grows on you. And she’ll probably start texting you too, so I’m really sorry in advance._

_i like people, its okay. plus you guys are saving me from the boredom of studying_

_No callers to help with productivity?_

_day off, lots of work to do. ugh biology. ugh adhd. uuuuugh college_

_I used to be a biochem major. Want help?_

_biochem? really? you don't strike me as the type_

_Shut up, Stiles, I’m smart as hell. Do you want me to call and quiz you or anything?_

_that would actually be awesome_

His phone rings almost immediately, and Derek hits him with a question as soon as he picks up. Stiles answers it, and Derek counters with another. Scott delivers half of their pizza a few minutes later, and Stiles shoots him a thumbs up and continues talking Derek through ATP production. Scott gives him a funny look, but Stiles just takes a bite of pizza and keeps talking with his mouth full.

 

 

Stiles calls Derek as soon as he’s out of the test. Scott shoots him a look, but Stiles waves it off and mouths _dinner in ten?_ Scott nods and runs off to do…god knows what. “Dude, I just kicked that test’s ass six ways to Sunday,” Stiles says, beaming like an idiot, when Derek answers.

 “That’s great. Are you ready for the other one?”

 “ _Please_ ,” Stiles scoffs. “It’s psych. I was _born_ ready for that shit. I’m going to spend the next three hours passed out in my bed, and then I’m going to get up and kick _its_ ass too. I got this.”

 “Good, good. So you don’t need my help?” Derek sounds weirdly disappointed, and Stiles melts a little bit. (Derek makes him think of a puppy. He doesn’t know why, but he’s starting to form a mental image of the guy, and about half the time, that image is a hottie with a body. But the other half? Totally a puppy.)

 “I’m good. But dude, you were so helpful with the bio. I mean, I’m freaking brilliant, but bio is just so much _information_ and Adderall can only help so much, you know? But other than one weird essay question about biodiversity, you saved my ass.”

 “Freaking brilliant, huh?” Derek’s teasing him, but Stiles totally _is_ a genius.

 “Oh, coming from you, Mr. _Smart-as-Hell_? Dude, I got into _Stanford_. I’m just here because Scott – my roommate-slash-best friend since first grade – probably can’t tie his shoes without me. Granted, without him I'd forget to tie mine altogether, so. Partners in crime.”

 “Smart _and_ loyal. That’s hot.”

 “You know it, babe.” Stiles winks, then remembers Derek can’t see him. “I just winked at you, for the record.”

 “You _would_.”

 “Dude, this is our, what, fourth conversation? You totally can’t go all ‘you would’ on me. You don’t even _know_ me.”

 “I’d like to.” Derek sounds serious.

 “You’d like to what?”

 “Know you, Stiles. You seem interesting.” Derek pauses. “And you overshare, so I have every right to go all ‘you would’ on you.”

 “Aren’t you just a sweetheart. Listen, I’m going to go grab lunch with Scott and then I’m going to hit the hay like it’s done something wrong, but I’ll text you, okay?”

 “Sounds good.”

 “Yep.”

 “Yeah.” Pause. “Uh, talk to you later, Stiles.”

 “Goodbye, Derek.” Stiles hangs up and heads into the Mexican place he and Scott claimed as their go-to food location first semester.

 “Who were you talking to?” Scott asks as Stiles joins him in line.

 “Uh, a friend.” It’s true enough.

 “Girlfriend?”

 “No.” Stiles rolls his eyes.

 “Boyfriend?”

 “I think you would've heard by now if I was getting it in, Scott. But nope, I am still painfully single, just like you. We should get matching t-shirts.”

 “You should date Danny.” The guy _is_ hot, Stiles will admit, but also _ridiculously out of Stiles’s league._

So Stiles just rolls his eyes at Scott again. "I think I've drunk-texted him too many times to ever get any action there."

“I’m guessing still no luck with Lydia?”

Stiles sighs. “I’m starting to doubt I’ll _ever_ have luck with Lydia. Plus I think she’s dating that Jackson douchebag.” They get to the front of the line and order, then stake out a table. “What does he have that I don’t?” Stiles continues.

 “The guy’s _really_ good at lacrosse. Also, I think he has a six-pack. And great hair.”

 “Oh, yeah, like my hair’s not beautiful.” Stiles runs a hand through it. It’s a mess, as usual, but he thinks it’s at least an improvement on the buzz he’d rocked for six years. “You’re the worst best friend ever, Scott.”

 “I’m the best thing to ever happen to your social life, Stiles.”

 “Falsehoods! Falsehoods and lies!” Stiles proclaims. Scott laughs, and they eat their food in peace.

 

 

_test report: stiles continues to be a super genius_

_Life report: Derek got a job! I win._

_dude i didn’t know you were unemployed. delinquent o.o looks like that biochem degree is treating you well. what’s the job?_

_Never graduated. Bartending. They think I’ll draw in female customers. I feel deeply objectified._

_HA i totally called it_

_Called what…?_

_that you’re hot. duh_

_I’m not really. I just work out a lot; it helps me think._

_did you really just use a semicolon in a text_

_Shut up._

_you shut up_

_Wow, mature._

_you should send me a picture of your abs_

_Don’t objectify me._

_you know you love me. you should switch laura’s salt and sugar or something like that. we need to keep her on her feet_

_What did she ever do to you?_

_first, her reactions are fucking great. second, she HUNTED DOWN MY PHONE NUMBER. she scares me, so i'm going to scare her back. bam._

_That’s…not a normal reaction to fear, Stiles._

_my dad’s a cop. and i had to watch my mom slowly die for about a year. i have a strange, strange relationship with fear_

_I’m sorry._

_why'd you drop out of college?_ Stiles counters.

_I don’t think I’m ready to talk about that yet._

_that bad? i'm here for you, man. even if I barely know you_

_You already know more about me than anyone but my sister._

_dude, all i really know about you is that you have a sister, you have abs, and you used to be a biochem major. and that you’re easy to talk to <3 but that's not exactly enough to make me your best friend 5ever, you know?_

_If you can put up with me, I promise I’ll share more._

_i'd like that a lot_

_Me too. Hey, it’s pushing midnight here, so I’m going to go to bed. It’s been really nice talking to you, Stiles._

_you too, derek. sweet dreams._


	4. Chapter 4

Stiles’s phone rings at the asscrack of dawn. He looks at it – work call. That’s what he gets for taking a day off. “Hey baby,” he says, trying not to sound too groggy. “Good morning.” The morning guys tend to be pretty easy, fortunately, just looking for a quickie before work or whatever. This guy’s no exception; he just wants Stiles to do the long-distance relationship kind of phone sex, with Stiles talking him through getting off. It’s no more than twenty minutes, and then there’s another call, even shorter. He’s glad when he can roll over and go back to sleep, though not before texting Derek – _early morning callers are the worst ugh_

When he wakes up for class, a solid four hours later, he’s got a response from Derek.   _No, sisters are the worst._

Stiles grins at his phone and rolls over. Who needs class? It’s the last day before break, and everything they talk about will be reviewed again, so he’s not going to bother. _why must you always one-up me, derek? whyyyyy?_

_Who else is going to keep you in your place?_

_was that meant to be dirty? because it sounded pretty dirty_

_Oh yes, you bad boy, you._

_for the love of christ derek stop sounding like one of my collars_

_*callers wow freudian slip_

_You know you like it._

_you know, texts make it hard to tell when you’re kidding. you should send me a dickpic_

He's kidding, but his phone rings immediately.   _Derek_ and a picture of a puppy flash on the screen. He picks up. “You don't _actually_ have to send me dickpics, sorry.”

 “You're fine, Stiles. But texts are kind of a bullshit method of communication - I'm more a fan of phone calls anyway. Don’t you have class in a few minutes?”

"How do you know I'm not walking to class  _right now_?"

"Stiles," Derek says. Stiles is  _positive_  Derek has an eyebrow raised.

 “How do you know my schedule, anyway?"

 “You talk a lot.”

Stiles shrugs, because it’s true. “Fair enough. And yes, I do have class, but I am instead going to spend the next few hours in bed, doing nothing productive until Scott comes running in here with a bottle of tequila shouting about spring break at the top of his lungs.”

 “Has he done it before?”

 “No, but I know him _damn_ well. And I know he’s got a bottle of tequila under his bed, so it makes sense. Sorry in advance for all the drunk texts you’ll probably get later tonight. I am a talkative drunk.”

 “Why am I not surprised?”

 “Shut up, you.”

 “Why would I do that? You’re one of two people in this world I can really talk to.”

 “Man, this conversation went from silly and flirty to _depressing as fuck_ in what, three seconds?” Stiles stops kidding, decides to match Derek’s tone. “And I’m glad I can be here for you. You’re certainly one of the better people in my life, in a stream of creepy old men and Scott trying to set me up with the lacrosse goalie. Who, granted, is hot as hell, but waaay out of my league.”

 “I used to play lacrosse, back in high school.”

 “In theory, I’m on our team, but my ass is usually planted firmly on the bench.”

 “Benchwarming is a noble profession.”

 “Please, I bet you never did it for a day in your life, Mr. Working Out Helps Me Think.”

 “First day, freshman year of high school.”

 “Doesn’t count. How long ago _was_ that, by the way? For your supposed best friend ever, I don’t actually know the basic facts of who you are.”

 “I never said you were my best friend ever.”

Stiles waves a hand. “It was implied.”

 “All right, all right. My name is Derek, middle name James, last name omitted because I have hardcore trust issues. Had three siblings, now only Laura." Stiles wants to ask for any sort of detail, but doesn't. "I’m twenty-five. I’ve got half a degree in biochemistry, but now I’m a bartender. I live in a city far, far away from where I grew up.” Derek goes on to tell Stiles a few stories about his childhood, more about Laura’s antics and ideas he’s had for counter-pranks. Stiles just listens to the sound of his voice, getting caught up in the sounds of his vowels and the sheer quantity of words he’s hearing.

Derek wraps up, and then asks for Stiles’s story, so Stiles shares it, full name omitted because it’s only fair, with his own sibling stories – they’re sibling stories, even if Scott’s not blood. He talks about his mom’s cooking, about his first attempt at a boyfriend, about his love poems re: Lydia’s hair.

He doesn’t know how they’ve been talking for so long, but soon enough Scott bursts in, as predicted, screaming about tequila and SPRING BREAK, MAN. SPRING BREAK. Then Scott notices the phone in Stiles’s hand and apologizes, but Stiles has already hung up and is SUPER PUMPED TOO.

They find a party, and keep their bottle just between the two of them.

Stiles doesn’t really remember what happens after shot number six.

 

 

 

 “Stiles,” Scott moans from the bathroom at about seven AM, “we are never drinking again.”

 “You say that every time,” Stiles whispers back. “Stop being so damn _loud_.”

Stiles moves from the couch to his bedroom, and goes back to sleep until the afternoon. He gets a text from Derek just as he’s stretching. _Figure you might be awake by now. Tip: look at your sent texts._

 _oh god,_ Stiles texts back. When he looks, they’re no worse than things he’s sent before – a haiku about Danny’s abs, sent to Danny, a few _i don’t need your love anyway, you gorgeous thing you_ messages to Lydia, and random jumbles of letters and typo-ridden pop culture references to Derek, culminating in  _IS IT WEIRD THAT I WANT TO HAVE ALL KIDNS OF SEX WITH YUO EVEN THOUGH IVE NEVER EVEN SENE YOU I GUESS IM ATRACTED TO YOUR BRAIN. UGH THOUGH I BET YOURE SO HOT. HOW BIG IS YUOR DICK?_  followed by _that was inappropro, i'm sorry. but i would not complain about having your dick in my mouth JUST SAYING_

Stiles groans and sends another text. _ignore that if you want, i'm a slutty drunk_

Derek replies with a winky face, and Stiles throws his phone on the floor, just as Scott knocks on the doorframe.

 “Stiles, I need you to give me a ride home. Pack your stuff.”

 “Oh man, the long journey back to the _other side of Beacon Hills._ ” Stiles still sometimes can’t believe that Scott convinced him to go to UC Beacon Hills. _Stanford_ was an option, damn it.

 “Yes. Come on, let’s load the jeep. I’m bringing the Xbox, by the way.”

 “Of course you are,” Stiles mumbles, finally rolling out of bed.

 Stiles texts Derek. _i'm going home!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you want more of stiles's drunk texts, look at the other work in this series.


	5. Chapter 5

“Dad, what the hell?” Stiles exclaims as he opens the fridge to reveal burgers, leftover Chinese, and beer. “I told you to take care of yourself!”

Sheriff Stilinski shrugs, leaning against the kitchen counter. “You caught me on a bad day.”

Stiles groans. “That’s it. Your call. I can either come home once a week and shop for you, giving you hell the _whole_ time, or we can get Melissa over here and get- “

“ _Stiles._ ”

Stiles throws his hands in the air. “Okay, okay! So, anything interesting going on in cop-ville these days? Murders? Drug busts?” John shoots him a look. “You’re no fun, Dad.”

 

 

 

_STILES DAMMIT WHAT DID I SAY ABOUT PRANKING ME._

_laura?_ Stiles replies. It’s the first time she’s texted him. He shoots off a text to Derek as well – _what did you do to your sister_

_YOU’RE DAMN RIGHT THIS IS LAURA_

Derek’s response comes in. _I think you mentioned zipties at some point?_ Stiles cackles.

 _wasn't me!_ he sends to Laura. _your brother is blossoming all on his own!_

_YOU LITTLE SHIT_

_did you know it’s possible to write LOWERCASE letters_

_YOU KNOW WHAT_

Stiles sends another message to Derek, _dude, your sister is hilarious._

_AND HERE I WAS GOING TO TELL YOUR SORRY ASS THAT IT’S DEREK’S BIRTHDAY ON FRIDAY. BUT NOOO._

_you just told me_

_I QUIT WITH THE TWO OF YOU._

Stiles laughs and reads his message from Derek: _She’s a lot less hilarious when you wake up to her all-caps lifestyle at four in the morning because she wants to learn how to bake._

_but at least you got baked goods_

_“Baked goods.” Extra skepticism on the GOOD part._

Stiles rolls over, still in bed even though it’s noon, and replies, _so i hear your birthday’s coming up_

_Don’t remind me. I’m ancient._

_how ancient, dude? am i talking to a dinosaur or some shit? ARE YOU A VELOCIRAPTOR_

_26 on Friday. Pretty sure you knew that. Fuck off._

_suck my dick asshole_

_Your dick asshole? What the hell is a dick asshole?_

_i hate you. and now i'm going back to bed, because it’s spring break and i do what i want_

_You rebel, you._

Stiles goes back to sleep.

 

 

Stiles wakes up to his dad pounding on his door. “Stiles! Thing Two is here!”

Stiles throws his pillow at the door and rolls – literally rolls – out of bed and lies in a heap on the floor for a moment. “Fine, fine, coming,” he replies, muffled by the floor.

Once he’s got on pants, he goes downstairs, where Scott’s waiting with a lacrosse stick. Stiles rolls his eyes. “Dude, no. We’re going to your house and playing video games, because I am _sick of you making me play lacrosse every single day._ ”

Scott rolls his eyes, but goes along with it. Stiles texts Derek the whole drive there, and more once they arrive, until Scott grabs his phone out of his hands. “Dude, who are you texting this much? It’s freaking me out. _Der-bear?_ Who’s _Der-bear_? ‘No, itching powder is uninspired. You can do better. But now I’m at Scott’s so I’ll talk to you later’?” Scott reads.

“It’s pronounced dare-bear, thank you very much, and he’s a friend.” Scott raises his eyebrows suggestively. Stiles snatches his phone back and picks up a controller. “Now do you want to get your ass kicked or not?”

 

 

They do eventually end up playing lacrosse, but they’re drunk, so Stiles figures it doesn’t count. It’s nice, just the two of them throwing a ball back and forth in the weirdly warm March air, drinking from a bottle of rum. They’re in a field on the outskirts of town, past even the burnt-out shell of the old Hale house, so it’s dead silent and just _good_. Stiles missed his bro-time with Scott, because being roommates has made it feel like they got enough of it. But this is just pure and simple Scott-and-Stiles, Stiles-and-Scott, Thing One and Thing Two. Friends forever, through it all.

Yeah, okay, so Stiles is a sentimental drunk. Big fucking deal.

He sends Derek a bunch of cheesy texts about the power of friendship, and falls asleep on the field under the stars.

 

 

He wakes up in the early hours of the morning, because it’s a lot colder now that he’s sober, even tucked up against Scott like he is. (He's a tactile drunk too, he'll admit.) He wakes Scott and they drive back to the McCall house, where Stiles falls asleep on Scott’s floor after sending Derek a message about falling asleep in weird places.

Derek, as usual, tries to one-up him by listing all of his weird places. Stiles rolls his eyes and passes out.

 

 

 _happy birthday, sweet thang_ , Stiles texts Derek right at midnight.

_Sweet thang? Really?_

_1701% serious_

_Have you been watching Star Trek again?_

_maybe_

_For the love of god. I’m going back to sleep, because it’s 3 AM here and today is going to be a looong day, courtesy of Laura._

_i love your sister, dude_

_No you don’t. You’re terrified of her._

_fair enough_

_Goodnight, Stiles._

_goodnight, birthday boy_

 

 

Stiles spends the day trying to teach his dad how to cook good food that _won’t_ clog his arteries, getting the occasional update from Derek – _Oh for the love of god, she’s trying to take me to a strip club. Send help._ – and laughing every time. He gets a work call around five thirty and tells John the same lie about tech support, and goes on to roleplay an altar boy for forty minutes, because his life’s ridiculous. He texts Derek when he’s done, desperate to share the humor.

_Wow. Be prepared for some ridiculous texts, by the way – Laura’s decided that nine is early enough to start the onslaught of alcohol, and I am not immune to the temptations of drunk texting._

_i look forward to it_

Stiles heads back downstairs and helps his dad make a reasonably healthy dinner, which ends up beings some damn good chicken. Stiles takes some pride in his cooking abilities.

When he checks his phone after dinner, he has a few texts from Derek, each less coherent than the last. It’s hilarious, and they keep piling in while John and Stiles watch a movie after dinner, some action flick or other. It ends around ten, and Stiles dicks around on the internet, takes a few calls and does his thing, all the while enjoying Derek’s texts, which are now mostly bad knock-knock jokes.

It’s around midnight when he decides to go to bed early call it a night for work, but his phone rings at the last minute, yet another work call. He rolls his eyes as he gets in bed and answers. “Hey, baby, what –“

“Do you know how badly I want to fuck you?”

Stiles sits bolt upright. “ _Derek?_ ”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's your filthy phone sex, guys!
> 
> Phone sex between two people who have never met? Surprisingly difficult to write. But I think it worked out.
> 
> <3

“See, you know how you said some people have hot voices?” Derek’s voice is low and dirty already, but Stiles can hear the slight slur in the words, which makes enough sense after all the shots Laura had apparently forced on Derek.

“Yeah?” Stiles replies, not really able to get his thoughts together enough to say anything else.

“Have you ever even _heard_ yourself? Jesus, Stiles. The mouth on you.”

“What about it?” Stiles can still barely form words, because _Derek._

“You talk _so fucking much_ and it could _clearly_ be put to better use.” Derek’s practically growling, and Stiles’s dick basically goes from zero to sixty in half a second.

“Such as?” he chokes out, already knowing what Derek’s going to say.

“I bet it’d look fucking _gorgeous_ around my cock.”

On the one hand, Stiles does this kind of thing for money, and is a fucking _pro_ at it. But on the other, this is Derek. Derek who Stiles knows everything about, from his childhood stories to his supposed gorgeous abs. Derek who is drunk and turning Stiles’s brain to mush.

“You think so?” he gasps, a hand already wrapped around his dick.

“ _God_ yes, Stiles.” Stiles lets out a noise somewhere between a moan and a whimper. “You’re already touching yourself, aren’t you?”

“Like you’re not.” Stiles can’t help the sass; it’s at the core of his personality, and it comes easily even now.

Derek just laughs, a filthy-hot noise in Stiles’s ear, different from his usual chuckle. “I started before I even called. Just knowing you’d…god, Stiles. Have you thought about this before?”

“Maybe once or twice.” Stile can practically _hear_ Derek raise an eyebrow. “Okay, fine, a lot. You’re irresistible.” It’s true enough, which is ridiculous; he’s never even met the guy.

“I’ve got nothing on you, Stiles.” Leave it to Derek to turn another joke into something totally serious. Stiles is fine with it, though, picking up his hand’s pace on his dick, listening to Derek’s low voice. “If we ever met…god, I wouldn’t know whether I’d go for your mouth or your ass first, because _jesus._ ” Derek sounds positively _wrecked_ , his words still slurred but spoken with the _clearest_ intent.

“God, yeah,” Stiles manages to say. “Let you do whatever you want to me, _god_ , Derek.” Stiles doesn’t even give a shit that he’s not saying anything original or earth-shattering, because all he can focus on is the sound of Derek’s breathing over the line and the feel of his hand on his cock. They stay in near-silence for a moment, the only sounds being Stiles’s breath and Derek’s little growls. “I’m so fucking _hard_ , jeez.”

Derek laughs again, and Stiles feels like he could get drunk off of that sound alone. “I am too, just thinking about fucking you, marking you up all over, all mine.”

“Possessive much?” Stiles laughs, but the thought is _hot as hell_ anyway. He grips the base of his cock and pauses for a moment, trying to keep his orgasm under control. It works, but then Derek answers him.

“ _Mine_.” Derek’s doing that hot growly thing again, and Stiles bites back a moan.

“Yeah,” he answers, hand right back to rapidly working his cock. “Yours, _god._ ”

“Anyone ever fucked you before?” Stiles shakes his head, then remembers that Derek can’t see.

“No,” he chokes out. “Nobody.”

“Gonna be the first,” Derek promises, and Stiles can practically _feel_ Derek roughing him up, just from Derek’s tone. Stiles is totally on board with this plan, the idea of Derek even _touching_ him turning him on like nothing else. “Someday, Stiles, I’m –“

Stiles doesn’t even wait for Derek to finish talking. “Yeah, god, _anything_ , Derek.”

“Your _voice_ , Stiles, _fuck_. I’m _this_ close.”

“Yeah,” Stiles pants. “Me too.”

“Come for me?” It’s weirdly tender, somewhere between a request and an order, but Stiles isn’t one to argue. At least, not right now. So he comes, hard, and hears Derek’s breath pick up and pause, before one rush of air and a muttered _fuck._

Stiles grins and grabs a tissue off the nightstand and cleans off his stomach and hand, phone still pressed between his shoulder and ear. “So that was fun,” he finally says.

“Yeah.” Derek sounds out of breath, and Stiles remembers that it’s three in the morning wherever Derek lives.

“We should do it again sometime.”

“Yeah,” Derek repeats. “Yeah.”

“Goodnight, Derek.”

“Goodnight, Stiles.”

Before Stiles falls asleep, he gets one more text from Derek.

_Next time, you’re going to come with your fingers in your ass._

Stiles’s cock twitches one last time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are the greatest and I've basically been grinning since the first comment.


	7. Chapter 7

 The smell of bacon wakes Stiles up around eight thirty, so he stumbles downstairs and takes the plate of bacon and eggs John hands him. He’s too spent to comment on how unhealthy bacon is. It’s the organic shit anyway, and it’s still fucking delicious. They eat in silence, Stiles using tumblr on his phone, his dad reading the paper. It’s nice, calm, and Stiles is really content with his life.

He gets startled out of his happy place when his phone rings. The screen says it’s Derek. “School friend,” Stiles answers before the sheriff can ask. “Be back in a bit.” He answers the phone as he heads upstairs. “Hey, Derek, what’s up?”

Stiles can practically _hear_ the hangover in Derek’s voice as he blurts out everything he has to say in one breath. “Look, Stiles, last night was not a good night for decision making, and it was awful of me to call your work phone and put you in that position. Let’s just move past it, if you can. I’m so sorry.”

Stiles groans. “Man, I _knew_ it wasn’t going to become a thing. All that about _next time_ and actual sex someday?”

“It was inappropriate and I’m sorry. I won’t do that to you again.”

“What if I _want_ you to do it to me again?”

“I shouldn’t have –“

“Derek!” Stiles practically shouts. “ _Listen to me_. I enjoyed myself, kind of a lot. It sounded like you did too. If you’re down for it, _I want this to happen every fucking day_. For free. Dead sober. You get me?”

Stiles can hear Derek swallow and let out a sigh. “Yeah, okay, I…”

“You made promises about fingers being places and you being inside of me one day, okay? And I am holding you to those promises, as soon as possible. We good here?”

“Yeah. Yeah. But what are –“

“We’re long-distance friends with benefits,” Stiles answers, assuming that was the question Derek was about to ask. “We’re going to have wild phone sex whenever possible, and wild _real_ sex if we ever meet, and I’m just going to keep texting you compulsively in the meantime. Capiche?”

“Capiche,” Derek answers, sounding a little dumbfounded.

“Anyway, that aside, I think I’ve figured out how you should get Laura back for last night. Props to you for the zipties, but we can do better. I mean, come _on._ ”

 

 

That night, as promised, Stiles gets off to fingers in his ass and Derek’s voice in his ear.

That becomes  a regular occurrence.

 

 

 _oh my god, scott got a girlfriend._ Her name is Allison, and she’s in Scott’s lit class and _way_ out of his league. Stiles likes her a lot, though.

_How’d he manage THAT?_

_:p i'm guessing he sold his soul to a demon or something. and now i've been exiled to my room because scott wanted to MAKE HER DINNER oh my god_

_That’s disgusting._

_you're disgusting. fact._

_Shut up, you love it._

_yes, okay, you’re a precious baby/special snowflake. happy?_

_C:_

Stiles bangs on Scott’s bedroom door. Scott opens it and sticks his head out, hair a mess. “What’s up, man?” He’s shirtless too, and Stiles rolls his eyes.

“I’m really happy for you and your sex life, but could you guys _please_ keep it down? Trying to do chem, here.” He points at Danny, who’s his lab partner.

Danny waves awkwardly.

“Can’t you go in your room?”

“My room’s the size of a fucking _closet._ ”

“Sorry, Stiles, I’ll stop!” Allison calls from inside Scott’s room. Stiles sighs, and Scott shrugs before closing the door.

“Sorry, man,” Stiles apologizes. “Okay, so the fourth question.”

 

 

“Am I attractive to gay guys?” Stiles blurts out as Danny pours some hydrochloric acid into a beaker during lab the next day. Danny shoots him a look. “It’s a valid question! I just want to know!” Yeah, so he’s worried he’ll meet Derek and be a disappointment. Big deal.

Danny rolls his eyes. “Pass me the indicator, Stiles.”

 

 

“Stiles, which tie should I wear?” Scott holds up two ties.

Stiles doesn’t bother looking up from his computer. “The blue one.”

“You didn’t even look!”

“The red one is ugly as shit. You ask me this question every time you need a tie.” He shrugs and shoots a portal underneath GLaDOS.

“Should I buy a new one? This is her _family_ , Stiles. Her parents! And her aunt! If they don’t like me –“

“Wear the blue tie, Scott. It’ll be fine.”

“You’re useless!” Scott wears the red tie anyway, and texts Stiles halfway through dinner. _wtf man everyone else is wearing jeans this is awful_

Stiles just laughs.

 

 

Laura starts talking to Stiles more, much to Derek’s dismay. She congratulates him, in all caps, for _SNAGGING SUCH A GRADE-A CATCH_ and tells him embarrassing stories about Derek. He finds out through her that they live in New York, and that Stiles is helping Derek become _WAY LESS OF A MOPEY BITCH_. He gives her tips on baking, because Derek complains a lot, and soon enough she can actually make good cookies. He’s very proud. They talk on the phone a few times, her voice always on the edge of laughter, a little bit hysterical.

He’s really glad Derek has someone like her in his life.

“Are you alone right now?”

Stiles takes the highlighter out of his mouth and circles something in his bio textbook. “Yeah, why?”

“Well, I’m alone too. And I’m bored.” Derek lowers his voice, and it gets a little rougher. Stiles knows that voice. “So I was thinking –“

Stiles cuts him off. “Unless that sentence ends with ‘I could help you study for this terrifying bio exam you have tomorrow, Stiles,’ I don’t want to hear it. I’m fuuucked.” He stares blankly at the page in front of him. “Shit.”

Derek grumbles something unintelligible, then asks, “Okay, what’s it called when segments of chromatids are exchanged during synapsis?”

Stiles makes a face. “Dude, that’s easy.”

“Answer it anyway.”

“Crossing over. Come on, ask me real questions.”

“Is it possible for a DNA adenine to an RNA uracil?”

“That’s more like it. Yeah, it is. Keep going.”

 

 

Between Derek’s bio help and Stiles’s work time, Stiles’s grades get even better.

 

 

“Okay, spill it. Laura’s right, you’re _such_ a mopey bitch.” Stiles can tell that Derek’s upset about something.

“She called me a mopey bitch?”

“Many, many times. What’s going on?”

“Laura’s on a flight across the country and I don’t know when she’s coming back,” Derek grumbles.

“Why’s she leaving?”

“Family stuff. She’s the oldest, so.”

“Sucks. But it’ll be fine, man. Want to help me study bio even more?”

“Is bio your only class or something? Jesus.”

“Oh shut up. My final’s in a week.”

 

 

Stiles aces his exam, and Scott, predictably enough, decides that the best way to celebrate summer is with a bottle of Bacardi.

Derek makes fun of his ridiculous texts for a solid week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My beta/sounding board for this chapter was pr1nc3ssp34ch, and she is a goddess.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next few parts of this fic run pretty close to canon. Eventually, though, we're going to diverge almost completely. For now, roll with it.

Stiles is pretty sure he should have known this was all too good to last.

Things are _great_ for most of the summer, until it all goes to shit on the very last day. Up until then, everything’s perfect – days with Scott and sometimes Allison, nights showing up at crime scenes before having A-plus phone sex with Derek. He starts jogging in the mornings with Scott in an attempt to prepare for lacrosse season, and sometimes goes for days running on just coffee, because he and Scott _need_ to beat more video games together. He even bothers getting a job at the grocery store, just for something to do, and between that and his callers, he ends up with more money in his bank account than he’s ever had. It’s perfect, until it isn’t.

_the next time this group of 12 year old boys buys a bunch of things together in an attempt to be funny i am pretty sure i will stab them before they can giggle ANY MORE_

_Someone’s on his period._

_single coat hanger and a pregnancy test. funny the first time, not so much now_

_That’s pretty funny._

_not anymore!_

As he sends that, he gets a message from Laura, asking about chocolate chip brands. He answers, then looks up to see that his line’s starting to fill up again. He rings up a few people, then glances down to see a _THANKS BRO_ from Laura.

He laughs, then turns back to his register to greet the next person in line. She’s a fairly young and fairly hot brunette, and she’s staring at his nametag. “Can I help you?” he asks, already scanning her items, all the ingredients for a batch of chocolate cookies.

“Oh, sorry, I just – never mind.” She hands him a credit card, a small smile on her face, and he runs it as she takes her bags.

“Have a nice day,” he calls after her. She looks at him briefly, half-smiling, and heads out the door.

There’s no one after her in line, so he texts Derek again. _goddamn now i want cookies. i hate your sister. also customers who buy the good stuff_

_Steal some from the bakery. That’s the best part of grocery stores._

_your sweet tooth is disgusting_

_I deserve cookies. Have you seen my abs?_

_unfortunately, no. remind me why you've never sent me pictures? starting to believe you're a crochety old man or some shit_

_I promise I'm not. Didn't Laura text you a picture of my ass one time_ anyway?

_doesn't count. she was drunk and it was blurry. you owe me abs, der-bear_

_Ugh, work time. Talk to you later <3_

_< 3_, Stiles replies, totally fine with how cheesy they are. He goes back to work for a while.

_GODDAMN YOU’RE SO RIGHT ABOUT THESE CHOCOLATE CHIPS. BEST ADDITION TO MY DRUNK KITCHEN EVER. GUESS WORKING IN A GROCERY STORE HELPS WITH YOUR EXPERIENCE._ Laura attaches a picture to that text, of a plate of chocolate chip cookies and a glass of wine.

_hello to you too. it also helps me hate people. win some, lose some_

_HOW’S THAT JOB WORKING OUT FOR YOU?_ She’s never asked about his job before, but drunk Laura loves questions.

_laura your capslock scares me_

_DEAL WITH IT_

_haha_

_YOU LOVE HAVING ME IN YOUR LIFE. DITCH MY BROTHER AND MARRY ME - WE CAN BAKE COOKIES TOGETHER AND PRANK HIM INSTEAD_

_i don't think i'm marrying either one of you anytime soon_

_I DON'T KNOW I THINK YOU PROBS SHOULD PUT A RING ON IT SOON. DEREK'S PRETTY INTO YOU_

Stiles smiles down at his phone.  _yeah, i know c:_

_GOD YOU'RE CHEESY. ANYWAY, I'M GONNA GO RUN AROUND NAKED IN THE WOODS NOW. SOMETIMES WHEN I'M REALLY DRUNK THE TREES TALK BACK TO ME. TALK TO YOU LATER <3 <3 <3_

_…have fun?_

He sends Derek a message about how ridiculous his sister is, but doesn’t get a response.

 

 

Stiles is playing WoW a few hours later when he hears their garage open. He glances at his clock and sees that it’s 10:30, way too late for his dad to be leaving for anything other than a police emergency.

Which is Stiles’s _favorite_ kind of emergency.

He calls Scott right away, but no answer, so he does the next best thing and just goes straight to Scott’s house.

 

 

After Stiles almost takes a baseball bat to the face, he fills Scott in on the situation – half of a woman's dead body found, AKA the _coolest thing ever._ Scott seems less enthused, but gets in the jeep anyway, and they drive to Beacon Hills Preserve.

“Are we seriously doing this?” Scott calls as Stiles powers through the woods.

Stiles can’t even believe Scott’s bullshit. “You’re the one always bitching that nothing happens in this town!”

Scott counters with something about lacrosse, which is ridiculous; Stiles has long since accepted that neither one of them is _ever_ making it off the bench. And then Scott starts asking questions that Stiles hasn’t really thought through, but Stiles’s sense of adventure will _not_ be defeated. Scott’s being a bitch about his asthma when Stiles stops, because they’ve reached the crime scene. Stiles grins, and Scott gets caught up in it too, until they’re back to creeping around the woods, trying to find the missing half.

Scott falls behind, though, and then Stiles’s dad is there, out of nowhere. Stiles swears and looks around for Scott, who’s nowhere to be seen.

“Do you listen in on _all_ of my phone calls?” the sheriff asks, disbelieving.

“No?” Stiles can’t think of a way to properly weasel out of that. “Not the boring ones!”

John shakes his head. “Where’s your usual partner in crime?”

Scott’s hidden well, it seems, and gets off _scot_ -free (ha) while Stiles gets dragged to his car, braced for a speech about invasion of privacy. But whatever - maybe he can squeeze more details out of his dad. Because Beacon Hills is a college town, and gets its fair share of drunk and disorderlies, but  _murder_?

Hell yeah Stiles wants to find out more.

 

 

Stiles texts Derek again, but gets no reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major shoutout to my faaabulous sounding board, pr1nc3ssp34ch, and to all of you guys <3


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rewrote this on 10/9/13 to make it less canon-based.
> 
> (Shoutout again to rogue for first version of this guy.)

Stiles doesn’t hear from Derek for the rest of the night, but he shrugs it off,  instead devoting his time to finding out what’s going on with the dead body. Or at least trying to, but he’s back at his apartment, and his dad’s email password has changed.

He texts Derek again – _amateur police work is hard, man_ – but again, no answer. He tosses his phone onto the bed and groans, then picks it up again and heads into the living room to see if Scott’s back yet. He’s not, even though it’s past midnight and they have classes the next day, so Stiles flops down onto the couch and tries to watch Doctor Who reruns, but he can’t pay attention with _murder_ dancing around in his head.

He flips his phone around in his hand a few times, texts Derek again, still nothing. He gets a work call, and Scott’s _still_ not back by the time it’s done. Stiles tries calling Derek after, and for the first time ever, it goes to voicemail – a gruff _this is Derek, what do you want?_ – and Stiles just hangs up.

Scott’s still not back, but Stiles is too tired to care; he opts to lock his door and go to sleep instead.

 

 

Stiles’s alarm wakes him up, which is something that hasn’t happened in months – Derek’s called almost every morning, just to say hi. So Stiles is a little thrown, and he tries calling Derek again. Still nothing. He calls again, lets it ring and ring and ring as he gets dressed, up until Scott bangs on his door.

Stiles opens his door. Scott looks like he didn’t sleep, and he has a leaf in his hair. “Dude, where were you last night?”

Scott grins. “I’ve been waiting for you to wake up. Look at this!” Scott lifts his shirt to show a bloody bandage. Stiles goes to pull it away, but Scott flinches back and pulls out his phone to show Stiles a picture of a really horrible looking bite. Stiles makes a face. “Hurts like a bitch. Leaving the bandage on for as long as possible. And you know why it hurts so much? _Because it was totally a goddamn wolf."_ ”

Stiles shoots him a look, because wolves in California? Not so much a thing. He tells Scott that as they head out the door, and Scott just grins wider. “Well, what if I told you that _I found the body?_ ”

Stiles grabs Scott’s phone and flips to the pictures, but the picture before the bite is of –

Stiles throws the phone at Scott quickly, who catches it. “You take pictures of your _dick_ but not of the body? What’s _wrong_ with you?” He makes a face and wipes his hands on his sweatshirt. “Trauma aside, that’s _awesome_. Where was it?”

_dude where the fuck are you my life is SO COOL right now_

 

 

Stiles checks his phone every five minutes through his calc class, but there’s never a response. He calls Derek again after, still worried, but nothing. Calls Laura, nothing. He’s too concerned to focus during his bio class after, and by the time Scott drags him to lacrosse, Stiles has gnawed through four pen caps. He almost ducks out of practice altogether, because he has better things to do than sit on the bench with Scott and watch Jackson Whittemore preen, but Scott drags him along anyway.

Of course, this practice turns into something _totally_ different as soon as Scott gets in goal and kicks Jackson’s _ass._

 

 

As soon as practice is over, Scott drags Stiles to the jeep and makes him drive them to the woods. They park, and Stiles finally interrupts Scott. “Dude, if I hear one more _did you see when I_ whatever I will cut you into tiny pieces and then steal whatever drugs you’re on.”

Scott drags him along as he jogs through the woods. “I don’t know what it was! It was like I had all the time in the world to catch the ball!"

"Yeah, Scott, you told me that already. Now where did you say the body was?"

"And it's  _more_ than that, man!" Scott talks a little more, and Stiles seizes the opportunity. Unfortunately, his totally hilarious lycanthropy jokes just soar over Scott's head.

“Lycanthropy? Is that bad?” Stiles wishes he could take a picture of Scott’s expression.

Stiles starts laughing and can't stop. "Werewolves, Scott. I'm making werewolf jokes."

"Oh my god, you're such a little shit." Scott punches Stiles on the shoulder, probably harder than he meant to, but whatever.

"No, seriously, though, where's the body? This place gives me the creeps."

"I think we're on the Hale property now, man," Scott says. "I don't know where the body was, relative to here."

Stiles stops walking and runs a hand through his hair. "Great. That's great." He looks around, and then checks his phone again – still nothing. Then Scott makes a noise of alarm.

When Stiles looks up, there’s an angry-looking guy in all black standing about ten yards away, just _being creepy_. Stiles hits Scott, who's clearly freaking out too.

Creepy Guy strides toward them. He looks vaguely familiar, and is also _fiercely_ attractive, but Stiles can’t quite figure out where he’s seen him. “What are you doing here?” There’s something about his voice, too, but Stiles can’t place that either. Probably a senior at UCBH, or a wanted criminal. The thought doesn't exactly make Stiles feel better. “This is private property!” Stiles looks at Scott, who’s just staring.

“Sorry, man,” Stiles scratches his head. “We didn’t know.”  _Please don't kill us_ , he wants to add.

“Yeah,” Scott finally says. “We were just looking for something but, uh –“ Creepy Guy stares Scott down for a moment. “Uh, forget it.” Stiles grabs Scott's wrist, is about to start leaving, when Creepy Guy pulls out Scott’s inhaler and tosses it over, then walks away. Stiles just stares after him, trying to remember where he’d seen him before. Not school, but he'd remember that face if he'd been in police records recently.

He figures it out. “Dude! That was…what’s his face, one of the Hale kids. You remember, right?” Scott clearly has no idea what he’s talking about. “His family? They all burned to death in a fire, like, twelve years ago.”

“Didn't the survivors leave California? I wonder what he’s doing back.”

Stiles does too, but he has other things to worry about.

 _No new messages_ , his phone reads.

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More canon, sorry. 
> 
> Rogue is my queen.

Stiles tries every trick he knows to figure out where Derek and Laura are. Reverse phone number lookups, calling every bar in the part of New York he’s pretty sure they live in, _everything_. And there’s nothing. Scott’s off logging volunteer hours at the vet clinic, so all Stiles can do is wait for something, _anything_ to happen.

His phone rings, and he answers it, breathless. “Hey!”

It’s not Derek. But it’s something to do, so he pretends to be a schoolboy while he makes a list of everything he knows about Derek that could tell him _anything_. There’s nothing, of course, so he grabs his keys as soon as the call’s over.

He may not be able to find out what happened to Derek, but he can at least find out what happened to the dead girl.

 

 

It’s only seven thirty, so he swings by the grocery store before he ends up on his dad’s doorstep.

The door swings open, and the sheriff shakes his head. “Stiles, you’re not fooling anyone. You bought me groceries three days ago.”

Stiles shrugs. “What, I can’t be concerned about my dad? Come on, I -”

“I’m not telling you anything about the murder. Thanks for the groceries, though.” He takes the groceries and closes the door, leaving Stiles to stand there, open-mouthed.

Fortunately, Scott had been a fan of parent-unsanctioned adventures when they were kids, and had figured out _years_ ago that the trellis on the side of the garage can hold a person’s weight, easy. Stiles climbs up onto the garage, then through his bathroom window, trying to be quiet even when he stubs his toe. His phone buzzes with a message from Scott. _hey dude sleepin @ allisons ;) later_

He rolls his eyes and silences his phone before sneaking downstairs. His dad’s in the kitchen, so Stiles sneaks by, into the dining room. The table is covered in papers, and Stiles leafs through the top few. Coroner’s report, stats – female, late twenties, Caucasian – and theories, but there’s clearly nothing really there. He’s flipping through one of the larger folders when hears his dad on the phone in the hallway.

Stiles doesn’t know where to go, so he just dives under the table and listens. “And they’re sure? But…How could it be _wolf_ hair? Was it only around the wound? Huh…Do we know if this has anything do with…Yeah, call me back once you’ve talked to Animal Control.”

Stiles is so focused on listening that he doesn’t even realize John’s sitting until he feels a foot in his side. He makes a noise, and then he’s getting pulled out by the arm.

“ _Stiles._ ”

“They found _wolf_ hair? But wolves haven’t been in California since -” At his father’s glare, Stiles throws his hands in the air. “Okay, okay, leaving!”

 

 

He gets Derek’s voicemail again when he gets back to his apartment. “Derek, seriously, you’re starting to worry me a lot, and some freaky stuff’s happening here and…I miss talking to you, man. And I can’t reach Laura either, and you just…you need to be okay, Derek. I don’t know why you’re not answering anything, and if you suddenly hate me or something, that’s okay – well, no, it’s not okay, but you know what I mean. If you’re okay and alive and able to answer this at _all_ , even if it’s to say you never want to talk to me again, _please_ let me know. Jesus.”

He hangs up and throws his phone across the room.

 

 

“Scott!” Stiles is really sick of being ignored by his best friend. “Wait up!”

Scott turns around. “It can’t wait?”

Scott’s gone before Stiles can tell him about the wolf hair, too concerned with showing off for Allison. And Stiles can’t even be happy when Scott makes first line, because there’s this horrible sinking feeling in his gut.

He leaves practice early, because he has work to do.

 

 

It takes Scott _forever_ to get back to their apartment, but as soon as he’s there, Stiles drags him over to a pile of books on the floor. “How much Adderall have you _taken_?” Scott asks, sitting on Stiles’s bed.

Stiles waves him off. “Just listen.” He sits on the floor and opens a book.

Scott doesn’t believe him. Of course he doesn’t, because werewolves? Ridiculous in theory, on so many levels, but it all suddenly seems all too plausible. But Scott’s too wrapped up in Allison and their six-month anniversary plans to listen, though, and he ends up storming out in a rage.

“It’s one stupid party!” Stiles calls after him. Scott flips him off.

There are claw marks on the comforter, and Stiles still can’t get in touch with Derek.

 

 

“I’m leaving!” Scott calls, slamming the door behind him.

Stiles buries his face in his hands before grabbing his jacket and heading out after his friend.

 

 

Stiles is making small talk with a few strangers when Scott comes stumbling by, looking like he’s _hammered_. But he’s been there for half an hour, max, so Stiles follows him, right to the curb, where Scott gets into his car and drives away before Stiles can stop him.

When he looks around, Allison’s stopped a few yards away from him, looking as confused as Stiles is. He’s about to offer her apologies and a ride home when the creepy guy from the woods the other day shows up out of nowhere, half a smile on his face.

“Allison!” Creepy Guy calls. She turns to him, and Stiles can only watch, held still by some kind of morbid curiosity.

“I’m a friend of Scott’s. My name is Derek.”


	11. Chapter 11

So, coincidences. Coincidences are a thing, Stiles tells himself as he drives back to his apartment. But he’s the son of a cop, and that means _nothing_ is a coincidence until everything else has been ruled out. And sure, Derek’s a common enough name, but Stiles knows there was something about his voice, and it’s hard to believe that Derek Hale would just _appear_ when Derek No-Last-Name went silent.

Which means it’s time for research.

 

 

Of course, research turns out to be less of a thing when he gets back to the apartment, to find Scott locked in the bathroom, shower running while he freaks out. Stiles bangs on the door, and Scott cracks it.

“Listen, you’ve got to find Allison,” Scott calls through the door, his voice weirdly thick. "I think I know who the werewolf is!"

Stiles tries to force the door open, but Scott holds it where it is. “Allison's fine,” he reassures Scott. “Someone got - "

“It’s the Hale guy! He’s a werewolf, he’s the one who bit me, he’s the one that killed the girl in the woods!” And, well, good to see Scott’s rolling with the werewolf theory, but _Derek_ , a werewolf and a murderer? If it’s the same Derek – and Stiles is feeling fairly confident about that at this point – then that's a more than a little ridiculous. Because murder? Not exactly in character for Derek.

“Scott,” he says slowly. “Derek Hale is the one who drove Allison home from the party.”

Scott slams the door and locks it, and Stiles can hear him run away and open their squeaky bathroom window. Then there’s a thud, and Stiles is pretty sure Scott’s gone. And probably on his way to go kill Derek. It's possible Stiles shouldn't have said anything.

Stiles leans against the bathroom door and slides to the ground.

“Fuck,” he mutters.

 

 

He finally moves from the floor to his bedroom, where he opens his laptop and googles “hale fire beacon hills 2001” and gets a handful of news articles and obituaries – nine adults, eight children; the fire was during some sort of family reunion, and the only person who made it out is more or less comatose. It’s gory and horrible and Stiles wants to throw up, but there is only one mention of Derek Hale – in Talia Hale’s obituary, the final sentence reads, “Talia is survived by two children.” And that’s it. No names anywhere, something to do with them being minors, and very few accounts from friends and neighbors – Stiles remembers the Hales always keeping to themselves, so he supposes that makes sense. He only finds one picture of the Hales, twenty or so people laughing, children and adults and teenagers all mixed together. He recognizes Derek near the front, looking _far_ less creepy. He’s got a girl in a headlock, both of them grinning like idiots.

It breaks Stiles’s goddamn heart.

When he’s thoroughly gone through every relevant article he can find, he moves on and draws up the Beacon Hills Police website and logs into his a deputy’s account. The search bar for old files is pretty shitty, and he makes a mental note to tell his dad to fix it, along with the _awful_ security. (Then he erases that mental note permanently, because he knows he _really_ shouldn’t be doing this.) He finally manages to get into the records from June 2001, and there’s a large directory devoted to just the Hale fire. Bingo.

Most of it is just more of the same, except for some red flags marking the possibility of arson. All of that leads to dead ends, though, so Stiles saves that idea in the back of his mind and moves on. At last, he stumbles on a note – _refusal of foster care. derek and laura hale have left beacon hills, current location unknown_

Stiles keeps looking. Derek said Laura went home because of _family stuff_ , and Sties wants to figure out what the hell that meant, seeing as most of the Hales are dead. Nothing’s changed with the uncle; there’s nothing new at all. Maybe it’s werewolf stuff, Stiles thinks, and then laughs to himself because his life is _ridiculous._ And Scott could very well be wrong – Derek’s probably not a werewolf, and there’s no _way_ he’s killed anyone.

Stiles tries to call Laura again, because maybe _she’ll_ finally talk to him. Her voicemail picks up. “Laura,” he groans, “I miss you. And shit’s really weird here, and I think I met Derek, and this might sound ridiculous but if you’re a werewolf you _really_ need to let me know. Like I said, ridiculous. But seriously. Call me, please, or get Derek to. So…yeah. Call me. Bye.” He hangs up and just sits for a minute, trying to figure out _anything_ that’s going on.

He spins around in his desk chair and tries calling Derek, but still nothing. He thinks about the last time he talked to each of them, but it was nothing extraordinary. Just Derek talking about abs, and Laura saying she was going to run around naked in the –

_Oh._

Stiles is pretty sure he’s going to be sick.

 

 

The case file for the murdered girl – Laura? – is a lot easier to find than the fire stuff, because it’s fresh and still an open investigation. He spends a few minutes looking at the mess that’s her legs, but that’s not helping him confirm that it’s _not_ Laura, so he moves on. The part the cops found wasn’t on Hale property, but what Scott found was, so that’s totally unclear and unhelpful, just like _everything else in the damn file._

But it’s _not_ Laura. He’s sure of it. Because Laura’s a goddamn _firecracker_ and he’s always been, like, 95% sure she’ll live forever. And there are plenty of obvious reasons she and Derek could have disappeared – coming back to Beacon Hills is probably _awful_ for them, Stiles thinks, and it’s possible they figured out that he was around, what with their magical werewolf powers and all, and now they’re trying to avoid him for some reason. Besides, Derek would probably talk to Stiles first if something happened to Laura – they’ve talked about loss enough as is. So there’s no way it’s her, even if she does love running around in the woods naked or whatever.

There’s no way.

 

 

Scott’s not home when Stiles wakes up, so Stiles grabs a pop-tart and heads out the door. He drives to Beacon Hills Preserve, figuring that’s the best werewolfy place to be. Sure enough, he finds Scott walking down the road, shirtless, clutching his arm.

Stiles lets him in, and Scott lets out a giant groan. “Being a werewolf is _bullshit_ , Stiles. And Derek Hale’s an asshole. Oh, and fun fact? There are _hunters_! Who want to kill _me_! What the hell, man!” Scott sounds a little hysterical, and then he pauses. “You know what actually worries me the most?”

Stiles stifles a sigh. “If you say Allison, I’m gonna punch you in the head.”

 

 

Once Stiles drops Scott off at the apartment, he turns the jeep around and heads back to the woods. He drives up the dirt path to the Hale house and gets out, looking around at the charred remains.

He walks up to the front door and pushes it. It opens without any effort, practically falling off the hinges. He looks around, and the inside of the house is empty and burnt just like the outside, clearly uninhabited. Once he heads into the kitchen, though, he finds a shitty minifridge  and microwave in a corner, plugged into a small generator. After he’s noticed that, he starts to see little things scattered around, and he’s _deeply_ alarmed by Derek’s housing choice. He doesn’t dare go upstairs, because the stairs look like they could give out any second, but he stands at the foot of them and shouts Derek’s name.

“Derek! I know you’re around! And don’t try to pretend you can’t hear me because I _know_ you’re a werewolf, okay? And fuck you, by the way, for not telling me!” He inhales deeply. “Derek! Derek James Hale, I _swear to god_ , you’d better come out here and you’d better tell me Laura is okay! _Derek_!”

He screams himself hoarse for almost an hour, but Derek never comes.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I just deleted the entire chapter before this, and am now kind of merging the two. Should be a party. (The whole thing was canon. You guys KNOW what happens in canon. You don't need me to tell you.)

So Allison's dad is a hunter. And Allison might be involved. And then Scott tries to kill Stiles - who totally didn’t sign up for the role of werewolf BFF, for the record. And there's basically nothing either one of them can do, other than try to find the other half of the body.

There are ways their lives could be more ridiculous, probably, but not many. Stiles isn't sure if he wants to laugh or cry.

 

 

Scott ends up finding something first. He sends Stiles a text and gets home late, when Stiles is sitting on the kitchen counter, playing Angry Birds and eating a toaster waffle. “Dude, what did you find?”

“Something buried at Derek’s house. I could smell blood.”

For a second Stiles is really excited, and then he remembers that this might be _Laura_ , and that sobers him up quickly.

Scott’s talking. “…and then your dad will arrest Derek for the murder, and you’ll help me figure out how to play lacrosse without changing.”

Stiles has had it up to _here_ with Scott’s priorities.

 

 

Stiles still has a lot of trouble believing Derek killed _anyone_ , let alone his _sister_ , but Scott’s 100% positive the smell was the same. So, with a comment about Scott’s life choices, Stiles borrows two shovels from the guys who live below them and drives out to the Hale property.

 

 

Digging graves is fucking _hard_. Stiles’s research, in the form of Supernatural marathons, totally didn’t tell him that. They’re there for _hours_ , and now Scott’s not even sure the smell is the same. It’s all bullshit. Grade-A, vegetarian-fed _bullshit_.

Scott’s trying to come up with a plan for if Derek shows up when Stiles hits something. It’s weirdly soft, so he drags his shovel over the top to uncover…a wolf. Or, at least, the upper half of one.

“What the hell is that?” he blurts out. Scott’s such a little shit. All this digging for _nothing_.

Then something catches his eye. It’s a purple flower, and he’s pretty sure it’s wolfsbane. He tells Scott, but Scott is _clearly_ the worst werewolf ever and has not done _any_ research.

Stiles rolls his eyes and pulls up the flower. Its roots turn into a rope, more or less, so he pulls that up too, in a spiral around the wolf. He throws it off to the side and picks up his shovel again, dumping a bit of dirt back onto the body.

“Stop!” Scott shouts, and Stiles looks into the hole. There’s not a wolf anymore, though; there’s a _human girl’s body_ , or at least half of one.

Well, he supposes, technically a werewolf girl’s body, but that’s just semantics. He sets down his shovel and shines his flashlight into the hole to get a better look.

When he does, a stack of things fall into place. It’s the girl from the grocery store. The girl who stared at his nametag, and who was making cookies at _exactly_ the same time as Laura.

Laura, who talked in all caps and whose favorite pastime was apparently getting drunk and running around naked in the woods. Laura, Derek’s _sister_.

Stiles turns away, runs into the woods, and throws up, again and again until it's only bile. Once he’s emptied his stomach, he pulls out his phone and sends Derek a text. _derek man you really need to talk to me_

Scott assumes he’s just balking at the sight of the body, but it’s not the gore that’s the problem. It’s the _person_.

Because Laura Hale is dead.

 

 

Scott’s the one who ends up calling the cops, because Stiles is holed up in his room, dialing Derek’s number again and again, until his fingers are raw. He finally falls asleep, but doesn’t feel any better rested when Scott starts pounding on his door.

“What?” he grumbles. He still has no new messages.

“They arrested Derek Hale!”

Stiles throws off his blankets and opens the door. “Really?” On the one hand, he doesn't want to do anything - he doesn't want to move, he doesn't want to leave the house, he doesn't want to  _exist_ , but maybe Derek has some answers. Maybe there'll be some sort of absurd twist and Laura won't be dead. Maybe something will happen to make it all okay.

Scott tosses him the keys to the jeep. “Let’s go!”

 

 

They’re basically pros at sneaking onto crime scenes by now, so it’s not too hard for Stiles to get to his dad’s cruiser, where he’s guessing Derek is.

He opens the front door and slides in, and yep, he’s right. Derek looks exhausted, and Stiles doesn’t blame him. “Okay, just so you know, you’re _insufferable_.” Derek glares at him. “I'm sorry, I haven't..." Stiles takes a deep breath, because he doesn't really know how to form words right now, how to say what he means. He runs a hand along the side of his face and through his hair. "I mean, it’s okay, that you're being a dick And I know what you’re going through and I’m _here for you_ , Derek, okay?” More glaring. Stiles isn't good enough at reading Derek's _face_ , but he's pretty sure there's more emotion there than just anger. “And, um, sorry about the whole arrest thing, but just...blame Scott. Anyway. Question. Laura – _so_ sorry, by the way, I’d hug you, except.” He gestures to the metal separating them.  “Yeah. Anyway, she was a werewolf, right?” He’s getting really sick of Derek’s silence, but he takes that as a yes. “She was an _actual_ wolf. Why? How? Also, you don’t think you could’ve _told_ me about the whole _werewolf_ thing? Jeez, Der.” He takes a giant breath. “And obviously you know who I am, so, um, nice to meet you in person. You should really start answering your phone.”

Derek continues glaring, but at least he talks. “You should really stay out of this, Stiles.” Stiles raises his eyebrows, because Derek knows full well he never stays out of _anything_. “Fine. Whatever,” Derek continues. “But you should _maybe_ be a little less concerned with _me_ and a little more concerned with your friend.”

“Derek, I – hi, Dad! Fancy meeting you here!” His dad drags him out of the car ands kicks him off the crime scene.

Stiles knows Derek won’t have his phone in jail, but he tries calling him anyway.

 

 

Werewolves sounded a lot cooler when Stiles _didn’t_ have to deal with them. He just wants to go home, get his bio lab done, and take a freaking nap before the game. The fucking _game._ Instead, he’s driving around, trying to find Scott, who apparently has become a _drama queen_ as well as a werewolf.

Scott totally owes him gas money for this.

 

 

Scott’s in the locker room when Stiles finally gets there, but he refuses to reconsider the game. Which is how Stiles ends up, ass planted firmly on the bench, crossing his fingers and hoping that Scott doesn’t get angry.

He gets angry anyway, but they win, and Stiles sees Scott run into the locker room, Allison following. Stiles _really_ doesn’t want to go after them, but it’s his job as Werewolf Man’s loyal sidekick, so he does. Fortunately, he only walks in on them kissing, Scott totally human. He heaves a sigh of relief, and Scott hears him. Allison tucks her hair behind one ear and leaves with a small wave.

“I kissed her,” Scott says, smiling.

"Wow, that's huge. Not like you've been together for like seven months or anything." Stiles rolls his eyes and gets his shit together so they can finally go home.

 

 

He’s having a _great_ dream – starring a far less broody Derek Hale and a pair of handcuffs – when Scott comes barging in, panicked.

“ _What_?” Stiles grumbles, adjusting his blankets.

“I think I killed Allison.”

Fucking werewolves.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact: norwegian cruise line does not have free wifi on their boats. other fun fact: i was drunk when i wrote this. so thank you to pr1nc3ssp34ch again for making it worth posting.

Scott didn’t kill Allison. Of course he didn’t. But it seems like he _did_ maul one of the guys in admissions, and Stiles can’t figure out how that happened.

“Maybe you should try to find someone to teach you how to deal with this kind of stuff,” Stiles comments, sitting on the living room floor while Scott monopolizes the couch. “Someone with experience.”

Scott rolls over and stares blankly at him. “Derek Hale _did_ this to me, man. Why would he help me?”

“Hasn’t he offered to, like, help you out before?” Scott makes a face. “He knows what he’s doing! He could keep you from hurting Allison.”

Scott grumbles some sort of assent. Stiles counts it as a victory, and hopes to _god_ that this means Derek might show up more often.

 

 

They end up eating with Lydia and Jackson at one of their dining halls, which is super weird, and then suddenly Scott’s boasting about his supposed bowling skills and they have plans for Friday. Stiles pulls him aside.

“You’re an _awful_ bowler, dude.”

“I know!”

“It was like watching a –“

“You need to come with us,” Scott butts in. “It’ll be perfect.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Oh, yes, being the fifth wheel. Exactly what I’ve always wanted.”

Scott looks around. “Um, Danny! We can bring Danny! Six wheels. Hey Danny!”

Danny glances up. Stiles shakes his head, but Danny gets up anyway. “No, dude, Danny hates me.”

“No, no, it’ll be great!”

“Am I even attractive to gay guys?” Danny’s not interested, obviously, and there’s no way Derek is either. So basically Stiles is destined to be single forever.

Except somehow Scott just talked Danny into coming with them.

As a date.

_Fuck._

 

 

Stiles is in bio, reminiscing about Derek’s lack of appreciation for his biology puns, when his phone buzzes with a message from Scott.

_dude dude dude_

_WHAT WHAT WHAT,_ Stiles sends back.

_they found fucking wolf hairs on laura hales body theyre gonna let derek go_

Stiles is super done with all this werewolf business. He’s already stressed about whatever’s going to happen at bowling, and now they’re checking out the area behind the admissions building, which is still closed off as a crime scene.

“Nobody’s Batman or Robin any of the time!” Scott hisses.

“Not even some of the time?”

“Just stay here!”

“Oh my god.” Stiles rolls his eyes and watches Scott go off on his little memory lane adventure, until another car comes close and they have to run the hell away.

No matter what Scott says, Stiles has trouble believing Derek could kill anyone.

 

 

Friday comes too soon, and Stiles ends up hiding in his bedroom an hour before they’re supposed to go out. He calls Derek again, and leaves a voicemail.

“Derek, I’m really sick of you not picking up, because…I mean, we’ve been close for _ages_ now, even without the A++ phone sex, and I never expected to meet you like this, and I guess it probably doesn’t seem like I’m that upset about Laura but I honestly really am. I’ve just been really overwhelmed by everything. _Werewolves_ , dude. Still pissed that you didn’t tell me.

“And now I’m supposed to go on a date with someone else, which is totally not an actual thing; Scott’s just kind of an idiot. Because it’s not a real date. Do you find me unattractive? Is that a problem here?

“Fuck, I’m talking a lot. It's just...I miss your voice. And I want to be here for you but I can't really do that unless you talk to me, ever. So just…call me. Yeah.”

Stiles hangs up and pulls a shirt out of his closet.

 

 

“For the love of god.” Danny rolls his eyes and gestures at Jackson with a fry. “How is that amount of male posturing even _possible_?”

They’re sitting off to the side, both totally done putting up with their best friends’ bullshit, sharing a plate of fries. “You’ve been friends for years. How are you not used to this by now?”

“Jackson is…yeah, okay, valid.” Danny smiles wide, looking like the fucking _poster child_ for dimples. Stiles laughs, and they resume their conversation about the new Android OS and the merits of ketchup versus vinegar on fries. Stiles isn’t totally sure whether or not it’s a capital-D-Date, but it’s actually really nice, and he just wishes something like this could’ve happened sometime he didn’t have to worry about Derek.

Danny waves a hand in front of Stiles’s face. “Earth to Stiles.”

“Sorry, what?”

“Want to get away from those guys completely?” Danny jerks a head at Jackson, who’s basically assaulting Scott by the pinball machine. “Because I could really do with a beer right about now.”

Stiles looks over at Jackson and Scott and stands up. “Sounds _great_. Jeez.”

 

 

Stiles doesn’t know how long they spend drinking and talking, but it’s good, really good. He doesn’t get drunk, but they both end up buzzed enough to laugh at Stiles’s horrible jokes. Lydia even swings by for a bit, mellower without Jackson around, and they squeeze her into their booth as she corrects every single thing either one of them has ever said about chemistry. She’s brilliant without Jackson around, and Stiles loves that a little bit. After she heads out, leaving him alone with Danny again, Stiles realizes that there’s a friendship waiting to happen there, and that he and Danny are getting along wonderfully. It’s the best, even when he gets a text from Scott.

_admissions guy = dead according 2 my mom_

Stiles pauses for a second, then puts his phone away again, on silent now. Werewolf shit can wait. He and Danny end up wandering around the quad for a bit, talking about nothing in particular, finally parting ways at almost two in the morning. Stiles pulls out his phone to text Scott, and there’s a _One New Message!_ notification on his screen. Assuming it’s Scott, he opens it, but it’s not. Stiles grins wide.

 _That sure looked like a real date_ , Derek’s text reads. _I’m heartbroken._

Stiles can’t reply fast enough. _you fucking creep. are you fucking following me? and don't worry, babe, you’re still the one ;)_ Then he stares at his screen, because _what the hell?_ Derek’s been dead silent for almost a month now, and now he’s back to texting Stiles like nothing’s up? Stiles is…confused, to say the least.

His phone buzzes. _Oh ha._

_does this mean you’re going to talk to me again??_

_No._

Stiles smiles at his phone for a minute.

 _liar_ , he sends back, ready to see where this goes.


	14. Chapter 14

Derek doesn’t end up texting Stiles as often as before, but he does send the occasional message. Stiles, in return, sends Derek complaints about _scott’s werewolf drama queen bullshit_. It’s definitely not like it used to be, but it’s something, and Stiles is glad. They're both treading on some sort of thin ice, hesitant to breach bigger topics, but at least they're talking.

Sometimes Stiles tries to _really_ talk to Derek, about Laura and about his family and about ways to help him recover, but there’s no easy way to say _hey I’m sorry your sister is dead and I may have been the last person to talk to her and I miss her too but more than that I miss you_ _being okay_. So he tries to slip little opportunities for _more_  into their conversations, but Derek never takes the chance to talk. It’s as if Stiles has a fraction of a shadow of who Derek used to be, and that’s it. So Stiles does his best, even though it never feels like enough, not when he used to get wake-up calls and drunken knock-knock jokes.

But the crowd of Beacon Hills Werewolves is small, so they end up bumping into one another here and there, and every time they do, Derek is a douchey douchebag. It’s largely because Scott’s around, and he’s being a little shit too, and the two of them just _feed_ off of each other, leaving Stiles there to roll his eyes and try to get them to stop being immature asshats. So they don’t _really_ interact when they see each other, but Stiles still gets the occasional good morning text, and sometimes Derek makes faces at him behind Scott’s back. It’s…strained, but Stiles will take what he can get. He still wants to really _talk_ to Derek, but he knows he won’t be able to deal with it very well if Derek disappears again. They have a sort of peace, and they’re doing well at maintaining it.

Until Derek collapses in front of Stiles’s Jeep, a bullet in his arm.

Stiles slams on the brakes and jumps out of the car, Scott right behind him. “Derek! Oh my god, are you okay?” Stiles presses a hand to Derek’s face, runs it across his forehead. He’s cold – way too cold – but covered in sweat. He looks like _death._ Scott looks at Stiles, confusion on his face, but Stiles waves him off. “Why aren’t you healing?”

“Wolfsbane…bullet,” Derek groans. “Hunters.”

Stiles grabs Derek’s arm and looks at the wound. “Fucking hell. Scott, help me get him to the car.” Scott grabs Derek’s arms and drags him to the front seat. “What do we do?” It’s taking a _lot_ of work to stay calm, because this is _not_ okay, but he breathes deeply until he can look at Derek again.

“Find the bullet. Scott, just. It’s the Argents. They have an arsenal somewhere.” Derek’s words are still punctuated by horrible, inhuman sounds of _pain_  that Stiles can barely stand. Scott nods, looking a little like a deer in the headlights for a moment before he books it out of there, leaving Stiles and Derek alone, with a line of cars beeping behind them.

“Never driving to class again. Jesus,” Stiles mutters, flipping the guy behind him off. Derek glares at him, looking like _hell_. “Okay, fine, fine! Driving. Is a thing I will do now.” He does, trying not to stare at the way black is spreading from the wound in Derek’s arm. He has so many questions, so he just blurts them out. “How did this happen? How do I help? Where am I taking you? What am I doing?”

“The vet.” Stiles chances a glance at Derek’s arm and gags a little bit, because it’s _gross_. “Stiles, _drive_ , or I will rip your fucking throat out.” Stiles tries to say something snarky about Derek’s violent tendencies, but Derek cuts him off with a growl. “With my _teeth._ ”

“Okay, okay, going!” Stiles slams on the gas.

 

 

“You want me to do _what_?” Stiles asks when Derek hands him the saw. Derek then pulls off his shirt with a wince, and Stiles just cannot deal with this. Because Derek is pale and sweaty and _totally dying or something_ but…abs. He _finally_ gets to see Derek's perfect freaking abs. Perfect freaking everything.

“It’ll keep the infection from spreading. I’ll heal,” Derek is saying when Stiles focuses again. Because now is _not_ the time for admiring should-be-illegal bodies. It is the time for freaking the _fuck_ out.

“You can grow back an _entire arm_?” It’s actually really cool, but also _not_.

“I don’t know.”

Stiles throws his hands in the air. “You don’t _know_? How do I even put up with you and Scott? Honestly,” he grumbles. Derek glares at him. “I’m not cutting off your fucking arm!”

Derek grabs Stiles’s shoulder. “Unless Scott gets back with Allison’s bullet soon, you’re going to _have_ to.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Scott’ll be here soon. Don’t worry, you’re going to be _fine._ ” He pauses, does a double take. “Did you just say _Allison’s bullet_?”

Derek makes a face, like he didn’t mean to say that. “It seems like she’s…involved.”

“Didn’t she get in a car with you, like, a month ago? Why would she do that?” Stiles is more than a little bit hysterical, waving the saw around.

Derek grabs his arm and holds it down until Stiles is still. “I don’t know,” he grits out. “She wasn’t…I think she’s new.” Stiles looks at Derek’s arm again, and it’s looking worse and worse by the second. Like, _really_ worse.

Stiles feels like he’s going to pass out. “Oh my _god_ ,” he groans. He doesn’t know how he’s expected to cut Derek’s arm off. He can’t. He’s 300% done with this werewolf bullshit. He’s going to run away to Canada and never look back. Ever.

“I swear to god, Stiles, if you throw up…”

“No, no, I got this. But,” Stiles gestures at Derek’s arm, “no.”

Derek grimaces, sliding down to the floor. Stiles sits down across from him, and, on a whim, grabs his hand. Derek squeezes it – too hard – and groans. He’s shaking, and Stiles doesn’t know what to do, because he _can’t_ do this, but Derek looks like he’s _this_ close to throwing up or passing out – probably at the same time. And then probably dying. Which Stiles would _not_ be okay with. “Derek, you just have to hold on. Scott’ll be back soon.” He pauses. “Allison? _Really_? This is, like, star-crossed lovers on a whole new level.” Derek glares at him more. “Sorry, sorry, I just – I cope through humor. You know that.” He shrugs, and Derek squeezes his hand even tighter.

“Shut up,” he growls, gritting his teeth.

“Shutting up,” Stiles replies. He’s losing circulation in his hand, but doesn’t want to say anything.

They sit like that for a long time – too long. It’s dead silent except for the sound of Derek’s heavy breathing and occasional groans. Stiles is _so_ close to a panic attack, but he focuses on Derek and tries to breathe.

Derek finally talks, and his voice sounds _so_ broken. “I don’t know how much longer I can stay conscious, Stiles.”

Stiles grips the side of Derek’s neck with his free hand. “No, no, Derek, it’s going to be okay. I’m right here. Scott’s coming.”

“Get the saw, Stiles.”

“Nope, nope, no such thing. You have nice arms, and you are keeping them both.”

Derek chokes out an attempt at a laugh. “I –“

“I got it!” Scott yells as he bursts into the room. Stiles pulls his hands away from Derek before Scott notices. “I swear to god, their garage is the scariest fucking –“ Derek glares at him. “Okay, okay!”

Derek takes the bullet, his hands shaking, and then he just _collapses_ , the bullet rolling across the floor. Stiles looks at Scott.

“Why are you looking at me?” Scott exclaims. “I don’t know what to do!”

Stiles rolls his eyes at Scott and then shakes Derek, who doesn’t move. He tries hitting Derek’s face gently a few times, but that doesn’t work either. “You’re going to hate me for this,” he grumbles before straddling Derek (which is actually really nice) and then punching him in the face (which is _way_ less nice). He shakes out the feeling in his hand, and when he looks down, Derek is blinking, all groggy. Stiles smiles at him for a second, and then remembers the whole _imminent death_ thing, which sobers him up pretty quickly. He stands up, and Derek does the same.

“Scott, the bullet?” Derek grits out.

“Yeah, I…I got it!” Scott hands it to Derek, who pops it open with his teeth and then pulls out a lighter. Stiles is a little confused, and then suddenly Derek is _writhing_ on the floor in pain, his hips in the air, while the black in his veins slowly disappears. The color starts to return to his cheeks, and Stiles heaves a sigh of relief.

Derek barely gets a chance to say anything before Scott cuts in. “We saved your life! Which means –“

“Here we go again,” Stiles cuts him off. “Can we not do this right now?”

Scott shrugs. “I guess. Allison promised we could go…yeah. So I’ll see you guys later!” He runs off.

Stiles just stares after him. “Is Allison really –“ he starts, but he can’t finish the question because Derek suddenly has him pinned against a wall. “Um, hi?” he chokes out.

And then Derek kisses him.


	15. Chapter 15

It’s good. It’s _really_ good. Derek’s hands go from pinning Stiles against the wall, to resting on his waist, to cupping his face. They’re everywhere. Stiles, on the other hand, just clutches Derek’s bare shoulders – which are _perfectly_ muscled – and holds on for dear life while Derek kisses the _hell_ out of him.

Stiles pulls away just long enough to gasp, “Are you sure about this?”

Derek’s moved on to mouthing down Stiles’s neck, his tongue hot against Stiles’s skin. “Shut up, Stiles.” So Stiles does, because Derek’s mouth is _awesome_ , all soft lips and sharp teeth. And ooh, now there’s lots of tongue in Stiles’s mouth. He tries to pull Derek closer, even though their torsos are already entirely pressed together. When he tries, Derek starts saying something against his mouth, and then just grabs one of Stiles’s legs and wraps it around his waist and grinds up against him, which Stiles can totally go along with.

He flashes back to all the promises Derek made about sex things they’d do someday, and he swallows hard because _those things could happen now_. Not _now_ -now, because Stiles doesn’t really want to get fucked against a vet clinic’s wall – though Derek is making it seem like a better idea with every passing second – but definitely _soon_. Because he’s touching Derek right now. Derek is touching him. Specifically, Stiles has his hands in Derek's hair, and Derek is touching Stiles's ass - though “touching” is an awfully gentle word for Derek manhandling Stiles until both of his legs are around Derek’s waist, gripping his ass _hard_.

And then Stiles thinks about how much harder it could be, because Derek has fucking _werewolf strength,_  and  _fuck_ if that isn't turning Stiles on even more. Which is probably a sign of his death wish, but the things Derek could do to him…

“ _Stiles_ , stop _thinking_ so much.” Derek growls against Stiles’s neck, where he’s just sucked a series of bruises. Fuck, Stiles is going to have to deal with covering those up tomorrow.

"What if I'm thinking about you fucking me?"

Derek pulls back and raises his eyebrows, just for a moment, and then he's  _attacking,_  pulling off Stiles’s shirt and trailing kisses - which are really more like bites - down his chest. “ _Jesus_ , Derek,” Stiles chokes out. “You –“

“Yeah,” Derek agrees, though Stiles doesn’t actually know what he’s agreeing _to_. Doesn’t really matter, anyway, because Derek just popped off –yes, _off_ ; Stiles is reconsidering his love of werewolf strength – the button on Stiles’s jeans. Derek tugs them down, along with his boxers, and Stiles could _cry_ at how hot it is. Derek bites Stiles's thigh, and Stiles jumps, then laughs, nervously, before resting his hand on Derek's head. But that feels too forceful, so he moves it to Derek's shoulder, and then suddenly he stops freaking out because _Derek's mouth_ is on  _his cock._

Okay, yeah, maybe he's still freaking out, but it's okay, because  _his dick is in Derek Hale's mouth_. Stiles makes a noise and sends up a silent thanks to whatever god granted him this privilege because it's probably the best thing that's ever happened to him.

That prayer totally gets redacted, though, when his phone starts ringing, still in his pants. Stiles tries to kick it before Derek moves away, but it _keeps ringing_  and Derek suddenly looks like a deer in the headlights.

"Hold on, just ignore that, hold on," Stiles says. He leans in to kiss Derek before he grabs his phone, but Derek leans away before he can.

“No, uh.” Derek swallows hard. “Get that.  I’ll…I’ll see you around, Stiles.” And then he _bolts_ , leaving Stiles alone.

He looks at his phone and answers it with a groan. “What do you want, Greenberg?”

 

 

Stiles sits on his bed, flipping through his contacts. He’s looked in a mirror, and the extent of the marks Derek left on his neck is hardcore as _fuck_. But he doesn’t have all that many female friends who could give him makeup – Allison’s the only girl he hangs out with that frequently, and obviously _she’s_  not an option. All of the other girls in his phone are just acquaintances or lab partners, until he gets to the M section of his contacts. He inhales deeply, then dials.

“Hey, Lydia. I need your help.”

 

 

Lydia lives in an apartment off campus, like Scott and Stiles, except that hers is huge, spotless, and clear evidence that she is, indeed, a goddess. It’s gorgeously decorated, organized as _fuck,_ and her living room alone is the size of Stiles’s entire apartment. She leads him into her bedroom – also huge and gorgeous – and sits him on the bed.

“Okay, show me.” Stiles slowly pulls off the scarf he took out of Scott’s closet. Lydia whistles. “Jesus. Did you have sex with a wild animal or something?”

Stiles snorts. “You have no idea,” he mumbles. Lydia disappears into the bathroom for a moment and comes back wielding a large bag of makeup.

She stands in front of Stiles and pulls out a little container of green stuff. She rubs a bit on Stiles’s neck, looking slightly impressed the whole time. “This stuff helps bruises heal really well, and the green tint will help calm down the color. And this,” she pulls out a round thing that Stiles is pretty sure is foundation, “will cover _that_ up.” She smears a liberal amount across the marks and then hands Stiles a mirror.

The damage looks way less extensive, only visible if he’s really looking for it. Further proof she’s a goddess, and an _artist_ with makeup. “Any questions?” she asks, handing Stiles the two products she used. He shakes his head. “Good. Now we can get rid of that _ghastly_ scarf.” She throws it in the trash.

“That was Scott’s,” Stiles says.

“Do you think I want Allison’s boyfriend wearing that either? Answer: no.” She purses her lips. “Speaking of, why didn’t you go to Allison?”

“I didn’t –“

“Thought so,” Lydia cuts him off. “You don’t want Scott to know.”

“I –“

“You’re not fooling anyone. So, details.” She sits on the bed next to him.

“Are you going to keep cutting me off?”

“Probably.” Lydia shrugs. “But continue. You’ve been in love with me for what, twelve years? I’d like to hear about who _else_ you would let maul you like that. So talk.”

 

 

It’s not easy to explain the Derek situation without talking about werewolves and dead people and phone sex lines, and it’s even harder to do it with fake names, but Lydia listens to the story of Miguel, King of Brooding, and only interrupts with the occasional question for clarification. She’s a better listener than Stiles expected, and she doesn’t pry too much when he leaves things out that he _can’t_ tell her.

“And then Greenberg called and Miguel ran away and now he’s not answering my texts or my calls, _again_ ,” he finishes.

Lydia twirls her hair absentmindedly. “Send him naked pictures. That’s how I deal with _my_ asshole boyfriend.”

Stiles does a double-take. “ _Really_?”

“Of course not.” Lydia makes a noise that Stiles would call a snort coming from anyone else. “He obviously listens to your voicemails. So leave him a bunch of them.” She nods slowly. “Oh, and become _impossible_ to avoid. You said he and Scott have to butt heads in person a lot, right? So just keep being around for that. Also, he obviously doesn’t want to talk about his issues, but people hire therapists for a reason, and you’ll totally listen for free because you are head over _heels_ for this guy, but just telling him you’re there for him and giving him chances to talk isn’t going to do it. So talk about _your_ issues. Don’t shove them in his face, but make it feel like a safe space, you know? And talk about his sister, if he’ll let you at _all_ , because her death clearly affected you too, and you haven't been processing that very well either, from what I can tell. So it’s more than just him not being alone, it’s him disrespecting your relationship with her. You shouldn’t _say_ that, but he’s a smart guy with guilt issues. He’ll figure it out.”

Stiles stares at her. “I never said his sister was dead.”

“Oh, please.” Lydia tosses her hair over her shoulder and ticks things off on her fingers. “Just came to town, dark and broody, sister who’s ‘gone’, seen butting heads with Scott. Also, what kind of fake name is Miguel? Is it that much harder to just say _hey Lydia, I’m totally in love with Derek Hale_? Doesn’t seem it to me.”

And that’s the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> allie, your brotp is showing.
> 
> also
> 
> HA SOME OF YOU THOUGHT THE ANGST TRAIN HAD LEFT THE STATION BUT NOPE, IT'S STILL BROKEN DOWN IN ITS SUPER ANGSTY HOMELAND.


	16. Chapter 16

“And I don’t know, Lydia seems to think you listen to these. And she’s usually right about everything, but I don’t know why you still won’t even text me. I just…” Stiles pauses. “You know what? Fuck subtlety, Derek. I know you’ve lost _everything_ , and that’s so horrible and I've lost people I care about but I can’t even imagine what it’s like to be completely alone, but you're not. You haven’t lost _me_. I’m here, if you ever decide you need me for anything other than watching you and Scott bicker like children.

“And you know what else, dude?” Stiles sucks in a breath, not sure if he should really say this. “I miss her too. I really do. You had a lifetime with her, yeah, but I talked to both of you almost every day for a full six months, and somehow she ended up as one of my best friends. And I know you buried her, but I...I found her body, you know? And Derek, I loved her. I really did. If it took me too long to respond to one of her texts in the morning, she’d call me and yell until she was sure I was out of bed. She used to complain about condoms and organic bananas to me because she was pretty sure you were sick of listening. And she’d complain about you, of course, but she loved you, Derek, and it sounds cliché as fuck, but I’m pretty sure she’d want you to go out and live your life.” He groans, because that really _does_ sound ridiculous. “You know what? Forget I said that.

“Anyway, moral of the story – stop being a mopey bitch, for her sake and mine.”

 

 

Stiles quits his job, because he’s afraid of Scott’s werewolf ears, and because it’s hard to pay attention to customers when he's got _so much_ werewolf shit to worry about.

 

 

Scott’s phone rings, and Stiles sees the name _Derek_ flash on the screen, so he picks up. Sue him for capitalizing on opportunities.

He doesn’t say anything, instead waiting for Derek to talk first.

“Scott, what the hell are you thinking? You should have told me about the spiral on your –“

“So you _do_ read my texts!” Stiles fist pumps, because Derek definitely didn’t hear about Scott’s alpha window spiral thing from anyone else. “You should reply sometime. Just a wild idea. There's a lot of shit we should really talk about.”

“Where’s Scott?” Derek growls.

“Romantic weekend getaway for Allison’s birthday, even though it’s freaking _parents weekend_. He left his phone behind and so did she. Cue three parents freaking out. It’s a party, you should come.”

“With _Allison_? Haven’t you told him to stay away from her?”

Stiles runs a hand through his hair. “No, dude, he’d kill me. That’s your job.”

“Killing you or telling him? Because the former’s starting to sound a lot more appealing.”

“Shut up, you love me.”

Derek pauses for a moment. “Goodbye, Stiles,” he says before hanging up.

 

 

“Stiles, you should come oooover.” Lydia sounds super fucked up, and Stiles isn’t surprised, after what happened at the video store. “Because there’s…stuff.”

Stiles has his jacket on and keys in hand by the time she’s done talking. “On my way.”

 

 

Stiles lets himself into Lydia’s apartment using the spare key tucked behind a loose brick. “Lydia?” He peeks his head into her bedroom, and she’s sprawled out on her bed, lip gloss smudged on her face. “Oh my god, Lydia.” He sits at the foot of her bed, and she regards him with pursed lips once she manages to sit up.

“I know your secret,” she announces after a moment of silence. She pauses for a little longer. “Well, no. I know that you _have_ a secret. Not to pry, though.” She waves a hand in the air. “I’m just a very smart person. And I don’t like it when people keep things from me. Which you are doing. And so is Allison, for that matter. And Jackson.” She looks deeply offended. “And I'm going to figure it out, you know. And the thing at the video store…didn’t look like a mountain lion.”

Stiles sighs, because it’s not really his secret to tell, as much as he wishes he could. He tells Lydia that, and she rolls her eyes. “ _Please_ , Stiles, like I’m going to ask your little steroid-taking friend what his secret is.”

“He’s not – it _was_ a mountain lion, Lydia,” he lies.

“Nuh-uh.” Lydia grabs her phone off of the nightstand and throws it at him. “Video evidence.”

And there _is_ video evidence. Stiles texts it to himself, and then deletes it. “Nothing here, Lydia. You saw a mountain lion.”

“But I –“

“You saw a mountain lion,” he repeats.

“A mountain lion?” she echoes. He nods. “I saw a mountain lion.”

“You did.”

“I’m still going to figure out your secret,” she grumbles. Stiles isn’t too concerned, though, because she’s asleep and snoring almost instantly.

 

 

Scott runs up next to Stiles in the student center parking lot, where there’s a giant crowd of people. “What’d I miss?”

“Your father-in-law just shot a mountain lion in the head.”

“He’s not my – a mountain lion? Like, my kind of mountain lion or –“

“No, Scott, an _actual_ mountain lion. Oh, and I’ve been dealing with your mom _and_ Papa Argent all weekend, because you left your damn phone behind.” He tosses Scott the phone in question. “So no more romantic getaways for you, okay?” He knows he sounds like an asshole, but he’s _tired._ He’s so fucking tired.

“Oh, was it parents weekend?”

“Oh my _god_ ,” Stiles groans.

 

 

“Do you ever think maybe you _should_ try staying away from Allison? I don’t know, man.” They’re walking to lacrosse practice, actually talking for the first time in a while.

“I can’t, Stiles! She’s…she’s perfect, okay? The past seven months have been…” Scott smiles.

Stiles can clearly never tell Scott about Allison’s hobby of _killing werewolves_. “But that means Derek won’t help you. What are you going to do? You kind of need him.” Scott gives Stiles his best puppy-dog eyes. “Oh no, I am not going to try to train your wolfy ass. Nope.”

He ends up training Scott’s wolfy ass anyway.

 

 

Stiles can’t get over how ridiculous it is that _Allison_ is Scott’s anchor. He’s pretty sure this is going to end in disaster. But he’s an awesome friend, and he misses the days when he _didn’t_ have to worry about Scott killing him on the full moon, so he dutifully keys some guy’s car and waits for the fallout.

 

 

Stiles is trying to study bio in his room, but it’s damn hard without Derek’s help, and his grade is slipping. He tosses the notebook across the room and groans, head in his hands. He's so fucked. He's so fucked, and he misses Derek, and he misses Laura.

“Hey, Stiles!” Scott calls from the kitchen. Stiles emerges from his cave, desperate for any excuse to stop working/moping.

“What’s up?” He grabs the milk out of the fridge and chugs some. Scott makes a face.

“Remember your really stupid plan? I think we should do it tonight.”

“Oh my god, that was a _joke_. What part of _really stupid_ don't you get?”

“I think it’ll work, though.”

“And we’ll probably _die_. Ever think of that?” Aaand cue the puppy-dog eyes. Again.

Stiles sighs and texts Danny. _hey man can i steal the radio station tonight?_ He trusts Scott. They can manage this.

 _Do I even want to know?_ Danny replies.

_probably not_

_12:30-1:00 slot is yours. Your ID should get you in._

 

 

“This is a really bad idea,” Scott groans as they pull into the student center parking lot. The building closes at midnight on weekdays, so it’s dead silent and totally empty.

“Yeah, it is,” Stiles agrees. He parks the car. “Let’s do this.”

Derek’s black Camaro pulls up right beside them, and Stiles sees Deaton unconscious in the backseat. Again, he questions his lifestyle choices, but he doesn't really know what to do about the situation other than go with their plan.

Derek doesn’t look happy to see Stiles, but Stiles is too anxious to be hugely bothered. “Are you two sure about this?”

Stiles says no just as Scott says yes, and they both glance at each other. Stiles nods. “Yeah, it’ll work. Let’s do this.”

Derek gestures toward the door, and Scott and Stiles head in, using Danny’s key. They split up so Scott can turn on all the outdoor speakers while Stiles sets up the school’s radio station, propping all the doors open so that they can run if they have to.

They don’t have to run, though – after Scott manages to get out a howl that doesn’t sound like that one scene in _The Lion King_ , they just saunter out to meet Derek, because Scott is a _badass motherfucker_ and Stiles is his trusty sidekick.

Except that nobody appreciates Stiles’s jokes, and now Deaton’s missing.

And then everything is a blur, because the alpha is _there,_ Derek might be dead, and Scott and Stiles don’t know if the student center’s door can keep the alpha out.

“Shit,” Scott mutters. Stiles thoroughly agrees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SHIT'S ABOUT TO GET ~REAL~
> 
> (pr1nc3ssp34ch is the only reason i haven't thrown my laptop off a cliff yet. if you're enjoying this, go shower her with your thanks instead.)


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So all of you guys saying that I was including too much canon and it was sucking the life out of this were 4000% right and I felt the same way and didn't really know how to break out of it, which is why this update kind of took a while, but it's already more enjoyable to write C:
> 
> I skipped the Night School chapter, basically, so just assume that basically followed canon. If you have any questions, ask!

Stiles supposes he should be grateful for the whole fight-or-flight thing, because it’s the only thing that kept him alive during the fiasco in the school. But it’s long since passed, and now he can’t do much other than sit on his bed and read through Derek’s old texts. There’s a part of him that wants to get up and hunt down the bastard who _killed Derek_ , and another that wants to go find Derek’s body, for closure or something, because the cops aren’t even _looking_ for it.

But he’s _drained_. He knows there are things he needs to do, full moon prep and psych homework, but the motivation is just _gone_. He’s exhausted and, okay, heartbroken, because Derek is now more than an inconsiderate asshole – he’s a _dead_ inconsiderate asshole. Which is _so_ far from okay, especially so soon after Laura. A few moths ago, he had three best friends, and now he's down to just Scott.

Meanwhile, Scott’s totally convinced that what went down at the school left Stiles with PTSD or something, which means that whenever he’s not trying to fix things with Allison, he’s bringing Stiles soup. It’s ridiculous, but it saves Stiles the effort of leaving his room, so it’s fine with him.

It takes three days for Lydia to get involved. She shows up in his room with a box of tissues and _The Notebook_. “Do you want to talk about it, or do you just want to cry?”

Stiles just shakes his head, so she pops the DVD into his computer and wraps her arms around him, and he thinks he might still have more than one best friend.

 

 

Stiles is blowing off bio – _how_ is he expected to go to _bio,_ of all things – on Tuesday morning, when his phone buzzes with a text. He dives for it, irrationally hoping beyond hope that it’ll _somehow_ be Derek, but it’s his dad.

_Lunch @ joes @ 2??_

Stiles doesn’t want to go. He really doesn’t. But it’s his dad, so he texts an _okay_ back. He sets an alarm and goes back to sleep, again.

 

Stiles parks his Jeep behind Joe’s and heads over to his dad’s usual table. John shoots him a look somewhere between confusion and disapproval. Stiles shrugs.

“Rough weekend,” he says, even though he just wants to say _you’re lucky I even managed to put on pants._ But he can’t very well tell his dad that he’s this broken up over _Derek Hale_ , so he doesn’t elaborate. He asks their waitress for water and curly fries, and she goes off to get it. “What’s up, Dad?”

Silently, the sheriff pulls out a plastic _EVIDENCE_ bag and sets it on the table. There’s a phone in it, a beaten-up iPhone in a red case. Stiles doesn’t recognize it. John takes it out of the bag.

“After what Scott said on Friday, we reopened the Hale case," John explains. "We looked into it, of course – reexamining evidence, speaking with Derek –“

“You spoke to _Derek_?” Stiles chokes out. He's sort of pissed, and sort of incredulous because his life is a  _joke_ , but mostly he's just so,  _so_ grateful. But also  _so pissed._

The sheriff looks at him for a moment, considering, before continuing. “Speaking with Derek, et cetera. And there was no proof of Derek’s involvement, and the attacks are still all clearly animal in origin, so of course we let him go again” Stiles nods, still caught up on the idea that _Derek is alive_. “Anyway, Stiles, when we reopened the case, we found something.” He slides the phone across the table, the screen displaying a contact – _WANTS DEREK’S DICK_. All caps, of course, because of _course_ it's Laura's phone, with Stiles’s number beneath the name.

He’s saved from having to respond by the waitress’s arrival, and he’s too out of it to care that his dad ordered a burger with _all_ the toppings. He bites down on a curly fry as his dad takes back the phone.

John taps the screen a few times, and then Stiles’s voice is coming out of the speakers, made tinny by the slightly damaged phone.

 _“Laura_ _,_ _I miss you. And shit’s really weird here, and I think I met Derek, and this might sound ridiculous but if you’re a werewolf you really need to let me know. Like I said, ridiculous. But seriously. Call me, please, or get Derek to. So…yeah. Call me. Bye.”_

“We’re part of an online gaming community,” Stiles bullshits. His dad doesn’t respond, though, because there’s another voicemail playing. _“Dude, make your brother pick up his fucking phone. Or pick up yours. I’m not picky. Call me.”_

_“Laura, you should really go home, because it’s really hard for Derek to prank you from across the country.”_

Those voicemails? Totally fine by Stiles. But he knows what’s coming, because he only really leaves voicemails when he’s drunk. And sure enough:

_“IS THIS HOW YOU WANT YOUR TEXTS TO COME ACROSS? BECAUSE THIS IS ME SCREAMING. THIS IS WHAT YOUR TEXTS SOUND LIKE. AND IT'S GETTING OLD. I'm sorry, man, I'm kind of drunk. BUT YOU KNOW WHAT, IT'S TRUE."_

_“LAURA I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU DON’T STOP TRYING TO TALK TO DEREK ABOUT MY PENIS I WILL CUT OFF YOUR BALLS. YEAH THAT'S RIGHT. I KNOW YOU HAVE THEM FUCK YOU. AND - AND IF YOU DONT STOP, YOU KNOW, THE ZIPTIES? I CAN DO SOOOOO MUCH BETTER. THAN. ZIPTIES. DEREK HAS NO IMAGINATION. SO YOU SHUT UP ABOUT MY PENIS, BECAUSE IT IS NONE OF YOUR GODDAMN BUSINESS, EVEN IF –“_

Stiles grabs the phone and stops it from playing the rest.

“Stiles.” John’s face is somewhere between “incredulous” and “disappointed.” Stiles feels the shame in his _bones._ “Not only am I _severely_ embarrassed by just how much my _grown-ass son_ still talks about his genitals – “

“I can explain?” Stiles tries.

“Try me.”

Stiles’s phone rings right then, and he’s never been so grateful. It’s Scott.  “Hey, Danny!” he answers.

“Stiles, what – “

“Yeah, the lab due tomorrow?”

“Why are you pretending I’m –“

“Yeah, I can be there in ten.”

“Stiles.”

“Yeah, see you then, man.” He hangs up and shrugs at his dad. “We have a huge lab report due tomorrow. Can we continue this some other time? I’ll make you dinner sometime?”

John looks like he sees right through Stiles’s bullshit, but he doesn’t protest. “Tomorrow, be there at six.” He takes a curly fry off of Stiles’s plate and gestures with it. “Go on.”

Stiles grabs his stuff and leaves with a wave.

“I’m here!” Stiles calls as he pushes the front door open, two bags of groceries in one hand. He heads toward the kitchen. “So I got thighs instead of breasts, which means – _Derek?_ ”

Derek’s leaning against the kitchen counter, looking _super_ uncomfortable. “Your dad insisted I…yeah.” He gestures vaguely. Stiles carefully sets the groceries down on the counter, and then he practically throws himself at Derek for a hug.

“I hate you so much,” he mutters against Derek’s neck.

“No, you don’t,” Derek replies, his hands pressed flat against Stiles’s back, a little awkward.

They stay like that for a few minutes, Stiles squeezing tighter every time Derek tries to move at all. Eventually Derek relaxes, his arms tight around Stiles.

“Am I interrupting something?” John asks from the doorway. Derek and Stiles pull apart quickly, and Stiles hurriedly starts taking groceries out of the bags.

“No, no, Dad, you’re good. Uh, pass me a cutting board?” John does, a contemplative look on his face. Derek clears his throat awkwardly and passes Stiles assorted vegetables to chop.

 

 

The only thing more awkward than the dinner prep is dinner itself.

The sheriff is the one who breaks the initial silence. “So, Stiles, how are classes?”

Stiles swallows and something goes down wrong. He grabs his water and downs half of it before he’s able to speak. “They’re, uh, good. Chem’s good, Danny's still my lab partner and he’s great, professor’s still an ass.” John gives him a look. Stiles shrugs. “What? It’s true! And, um, lit’s good too, Lydia’s in that.”

“Does she know you exist yet?” John teases. Derek looks like he’s going to break his fork in half or something.

“Yeah, yeah, we’re friends now. Like, good friends.” Raised eyebrows all around. Stiles rolls his eyes. “Good, _totally platonic for both of us_ friends. Psych’s fine, more of the same. Spanish is muy bien. How’s the Warren case going?”

“It’s going well. How’s bio?”

There are some things Stiles can’t slip past his dad, and Derek’s clearly waiting on an answer too. “It’s okay? Mostly? I just need to do some extra credit or something.” He takes the salt out of his dad’s hand. “None of that for you, or else I’ll get Melissa over here _every_ night.”

The sheriff sighs. “Derek, how are things? Find someplace to live yet?”

“Yes. Sir.” Stiles raises an eyebrow.

“Good, good. And everything else?”

“Fine, thank you.”

They eat in silence for a few minutes, and then, “So, how _did_ you two meet? Stiles didn’t get a chance to tell me earlier.”

Stiles and Derek make eye contact across the table, and Derek jerks his head in a _you talk_ motion, so Stiles does. “Um, well, you know how I worked tech support in the spring? Yeah, well, Derek and Laura had some sort of ridiculous sibling prank war going on, and he called for help with a sabotaged motherboard. So I talked him through it, and then suggested prank retaliation. And then he called back for more ideas, and then _she_ tracked down my regular phone number and started texting me _all the freaking time_. And then it turned out Derek here could help me study for bio, and, I don’t know, somewhere in there we became friends?”

Derek nods firmly, a small smile on his face.

And then there’s Protective Dad Face #6. “Stiles, what have I told you about talking to strangers? They could have been serial killers or something! No offense, Derek.”

“None taken, sir.”

 

 

The rest of the dinner somehow manages to be slightly less awkward, but nobody’s exactly upset when John gets called in on a 459.

“Help me clean up?”

Derek nods and starts stacking up plates. Stiles washes, Derek dries, and the silence is companionable, their elbows bumping together every so often. Stiles smiles a bit, reveling in the knowledge that Derek is _okay_ , that he’s not dead, that they can have _this_ , whatever it is. It’s wonderful to be around Derek in a setting this calm, this _domestic_ , so if he presses against Derek a little more deliberately than he would otherwise, it’s not really his fault.

Then again, he’s _angry_. He's fucking _furious,_ and he has every right to be. Derek never once thought to check in on him, send a _hey I’m not dead_ text, nothing, and no amount of cutesy elbow-bumping is going to change that. He thinks about how rough things have been since what happened at the school, thinks about the bio quiz he missed and the _days_ without showers, and he’s suddenly so angry that his hands are shaking, the plate he was holding slipping into the sink.

“Stiles?” Derek looks so concerned, and Stiles almost laughs when Derek grabs his hands to stop their shaking, wiping them off with the towel, because _what the hell_.

“I thought – “ His voice is shaking too, so he takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, counts to ten. When he speaks again, his voice is firmer. “I thought you were _dead_ , Derek.”

“I know,” Derek says quietly. “I’m sorry.”

“No." He shakes his head. "You don't get to be sorry. You can’t keep doing this, Derek.” He takes another deep breath, because the words aren’t coming out as harshly as he wants them to. “This has to _stop_.” His words still sound weak and broken, and Derek pulls him into another hug.

Derek’s warm and solid and _alive_ in Stiles’s arms, so he just takes a moment to inhale before he tries to say anything else. “Derek, I –“

“Stiles,” Derek murmurs, fondly. “Shut up.”

When Derek kisses him this time, it’s nothing like what happened at Deaton’s. It’s soft and gentle – the kind of kiss you’d expect from the type of people who do dishes together and talk about their feelings. There’s _something_ less tame under the surface, but Derek has it under control, and Stiles gets the feeling that Derek is like that in a lot of ways. Stiles wraps his arms around Derek’s neck and smiles against his mouth. Derek just cups his face and kisses him more.

“You can’t disappear again, Derek,” Stiles says against Derek’s lips.

“I won’t.” Derek pulls away a little bit. “I’m right here.” Stiles smiles, and Derek grips him tighter, just holding him for a while.

“Derek?” Stiles says after a few minutes.

“Mmm?”

Stiles sighs. “I promised Scott I’d help him with his calc homework.”

Derek grumbles something unintelligible, pulling away until he’s only holding Stiles’s hands. “Goodbye?”

"You're _going_ to text me, though, right?"

Derek smiles at him. "Yeah. I will."

"See you." He watches Derek drive away before he locks up and heads back to campus. He’s unlocking his door when he notices the text alert light blinking on his phone.

_You should probably shower before you see Scott. You reek of me._

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love you all. Also, the voicemails were a ~collaboration~ with pr1nc3ssp34ch who is a fucking GODSEND.
> 
> Special shoutout to fphasmar/eilidhbite for sending me a GIANT message on tumblr about the relationship with canon and a fuckton of really thought-provoking questions - that's definitely a thing that helped me get writing again <3
> 
> (you guys should all talk to me on tumblr too! hanniballsdeep C: )
> 
> Also, GIANT fic rec - TW meets The Princess Bride: http://archiveofourown.org/works/578742  
> (It has 16 kudos and deserves like 5000, so that's why I'm saying this.)


	18. Chapter 18

Stiles makes it to their apartment and books it for the shower, grateful that Scott’s not in the living room. He does his best to scrub Derek’s scent off his skin, and then applies _way_ too much deodorant before donning clean clothes.

He’s pretty sure werewolf senses are never going to stop being a grade-A pain in the ass.

Fortunately, his live-in lie detector doesn’t notice if Stiles seems on edge. Less fortunately, that’s because Scott’s sitting in his room, in the dark, a half-empty bottle of Absolut in one hand. He blinks hard when Stiles turns on the light.

“Allison dumped me.” He raises the bottle. “Allison dumped me and I’m not even drunk yet.” He laughs, humorless.

“What?” Stiles takes the bottle. “Also, drinking in the dark, by yourself? Not to judge, but come _on._ ”

Somehow, talking Scott into leaving his room turns into Scott wanting to run free under the moon or some shit, because werewolves are _weird._ So Stiles drives them to the Preserve. His backpack is full of booze, because if Derek can get drunk, Scott totally can too.

That theory is blown to shit a bottle of tequila later. Stiles is on the ground, plastered to the point of probable alcohol poisoning, staring at the sky. Scott, meanwhile, is somehow totally sober despite the bottle of Jack now on his lap. Stiles decides to ask Derek about what that's all about. And then he forgets, because there's more  _important_ stuff on his mind. Like Allison. Fuckin' Allison.

“But dude,” Stiles slurs. “Maybe _you_ shouldn’t trust _her_ , ever think of that? I mean, nobody trusts _anyone_ in this town. Trust issues up the wazoo. Guess you missed the memo.” He does his best to tick people off on his fingers, even though his depth perception's a _little_ off: “Allison doesn’t trust you. Lydia doesn’t trust me _or_ you. Or Allison. I don’t trust your girlfriend’s family, and _they_ certainly don’t trust anyone. And don’t even get me _started_ on Derek’s trust issues. Derek’s _trust issues_ have trust issues.

“Plus, bro, other fish in the tank! Not like that stupid joke, but like, oceans and oceans of fish who _don’t_ hunt werewolves. You don’t need your confusing…soul-friend person. Do you think you're soul-friend people for real? Because women are _confusing_ , dude.” He pauses to think, waving the empty bottle of tequila around for emphasis. “ _Men_ are confusing. Let’s run away and start a private island away. No trust issues allowed. And no perfect jawlines, either. ‘Cause, bro? Yours is kinda uneven.” He shrugs. “Other laws – no pants on Saturdays. Oh, and mixed signals? Pfft, I don’t care if your entire family is dead – well, no, I do care, obviously, but that’s not the point. Mixed signals are _awful_ and therefore illegal.

“And like, it hurts, bro! We all hurt! But…dude, you had a relationship. Being alone is way worse. And I don’t even _know_ if…I need a drink.” He laughs, and takes the bottle of whiskey, and then someone takes it from him. Which is totally fine, because he loves people. The more the merrier, he always says.

“Well, look at the two little bitches getting their drink on.” Stiles looks up, because that doesn’t sound like the fun kind of company. Maybe they should just go.

Scott seems to want the bottle back, though. “Give me. The bottle. Of Jack,” he growls.

“Yeaaah, come one guys.” Stiles giggles a little bit. “Scott needs to brush his teeth.” Everyone stares at him for a moment. “Like Ke$ha? God, you guys have no sense of humor. As you were!”

Then Scott gets freaky and _wolfy_ and he’s _wasting_ perfectly good alcohol _,_ before storming out of the woods.

Stiles follows him to the Jeep, but then Scott tilts his head. “Did you hear that?” Stiles shakes his head. “Someone’s screaming.”

Before Stiles can say anything, Scott bolts.

“I’ll just…wait here, then.”

 

Stiles doesn’t really know what to do now, because Scott left him in the _middle of the fucking woods_ and he’s in no state to drive. He contemplates calling Lydia or Danny, but he’s pretty sure Lydia’s trying to smooth things over with Jackson via blowjob, and Danny has a radio show on Wednesday nights.

So he decides to leave Derek a voicemail.

“Heyyy, sexy lady,” he slurs. “I have a problem with your refusal to pick up your phone, so I’m just going to leave you a fuuuckton of voicemails as retaliation. You know what else I have a problem with? Mixed. Fucking. Signals. And you deserve a fuckin’ award for the sheer number of them you’re giving off.” He drops the pitch of his voice, in what he thinks is a _great_ imitation of Derek. “Oh, Stiles, I love you. Oh, Stiles, I have trust issues but a _great_ ass and that’s a package deal. Oh, Stiles, let’s make out so I can run away and – ”

“Stiles.” Great, now Derek’s voicemail is _talking back at him_. It’s possible he’s a little drunk.

“See? Even your _voicemail_ is sick of me. Talk shit get hit, though. I should hit you. But I’d probably break my hand on your face, you know? Fuckin’ werewolves.”

“Stiles, how much have you had to drink?”

“None of your business, Mr. Voicemail. I am a strong, independent woman who don’t need no man, goddammit.” He pauses, because he’s pretty sure this voicemail needs more music. “Don’t cry for me, oh tequila!” he sings.

“Those aren’t even the words.” Great, his hallucinatory Derek-voice is giving him _sass_.

“You’re a fucking voicemail machine, how would you know?”

“Stiles, this isn’t a voicemail.”

“Bull-fucking-shit. Derek Hale doesn’t know how to pick up a phone these days. Also! Speaking of picking things up, you should come pick me up whenever you get this, because Scott abandoned me in the middle of the Preserve and it’s cooold. I love him and all, but wolfhood has not improved his friendship skills. He didn't even leave me his sweatshirt! What a fuckin' tool.”

“I’m on my way.”

“You’re a fucking _recording_ ; you can’t drive!”

The machine doesn’t say anything, so Stiles tells his favorite long joke – the one about the train conductor who can’t be electrocuted – but he doesn’t get to the punchline before he feels arms around him.

He beams up in Derek. “You got my voicemail! My knight in shining armor!”

He can feel Derek laugh. “Come on, we’re going to get you home.”

“You know, you’re pretty fly for a white guy, Derek. But you’re also a diiick.” He laughs as Derek picks him up and basically throws him over one shoulder. “Mm, baby, love it when you manhandle me.”

Derek groans. “You’re so wasted, Stiles.”

“Why can’t Scott get drunk?” Stiles says against Derek’s neck. Which smells good, and, upon further examination, tastes good too. He says so, and Derek laughs again. He likes that sound.

He doesn’t really know how he ends up in the Camaro, but suddenly Derek’s fastening his seatbelt. “Let’s get you home, Stiles.”

“You’re such a sweetheart.” Stiles beams up at Derek, who’s just looking at him, eyebrow raised. “Come on, kiss me.”

“Stiles, you’re drunk.”

“Yes, I am. Kiss me anyway.”

Derek kisses Stiles, closed-mouth and chaste, and closes the door.

“That wasn’t a real kiss!” Stiles declares when Derek gets into the driver’s seat.

“Maybe when you’re sober, Stiles.”

“Party pooper,” Stiles grumbles, grabbing one of Derek’s hands and squeezing hard.

 

They hold hands all the way to Stiles’s apartment, where Derek carries him up the stairs and tucks him in, leaving a bottle of aspirin and a glass of water on the nightstand.

“What, you’re not going to stay and cuddle?”

Derek presses his lips to Stiles’s forehead. “Goodnight, Stiles,” he murmurs.

Stiles watches him climb out the window, and promptly falls asleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, major shoutout to Rae (chainsandshipsexciteme on tumblr) for stepping up and beta-ing this chapter!


	19. Chapter 19

Stiles really hates mornings.

He hits his alarm clock until the godawful blaring noise stops stabbing him in the head. He lays there for a moment, then throws his blankets off and gets out of bed. He’s not sure why he’s still fully clothed, but hey, that’s alcohol for you.

“’Morning, Scott,” he calls as he pours his coffee, which smells like _jesus_ to his horribly hungover brain.

“Hey, man. Really sorry about last night. I just freaked and got really worried about Allison, because of the full moon and all the screaming, you know? And then you were gone when I got back to the jeep, and I kind of freaked out about that too, but you were here when I got home. Glad you're okay, man.”

“You mean _you_ didn’t drive me home?” Most of the night before is a blur, now that he thinks about it – he remembers Scott staying dead sober, and that’s about it. And something about a private island.

Scott raises his eyebrows. “Nope. When I got back, though, I thought I heard you talking to someone. But you were asleep when I checked. I did get your car, though.” He tosses the keys to Stiles, who nods his thanks before grabbing his bag and heading to his lit class.

 

 _You look like hell,_ Lydia mouths at him from across the room.

 _i hate everything about alcohol. did you drive me home last night?_ he replies via text.

Lydia raises her eyebrows. _Blacking out on a Tuesday, Stilinski? That's pathetic, even for you._

_you love me_

_Whatever you say. But I didn’t pick you up, Stiles. Lunch and girltalk after class?_

_girltalk?_

_Stop texting me; you’re already failing this class._

_excuse you, princess, i have a b+_

She just smirks.

 

“Why do we need girltalk?” Stiles asks as Lydia drags him to one of the dining halls. “And why are we having lunch before noon?”

“Because I’m hungry, Jackson’s an ass, Danny just got dumped, and apparently _you_ feel the need to get blackout drunk on a Tuesday.”

“Fair enough.” She leads him to a table, where Danny’s already sitting with three drinks.

Lydia leans back in her seat and takes one of the drinks from Danny. “Shall we begin?”

“Ladies first,” Danny says, gesturing for her to begin.

“Jackson turned down sex. From me.”

Danny stops her. “The same Jackson we all know and sort of love?”

“The very one. Apparently I’m needy and manipulative. He wants an _upgrade_. He used. The word. Upgrade.” She runs a hand through her hair. “He actually compared me to a _car_. Apparently I’m like a 2008 911, which is great and fine for most people, but he’s looking for a 2012, at least. His words. Not mine.”

Stiles and Danny both stare at her in silence for a moment, and then Danny starts laughing and laughing, dimples in full force. He stops when he notices how hard she’s glaring, though. “I’m sorry, Lydia, but that’s the most Jackson-like breakup speech I’ve ever heard.”

She lets out a small giggle. “Yeah, okay, true. But really, if he's going after Allison, isn't that a downgrade? I mean, I love her to death, but she’s more of a well-kept Acura, you know? And a well-kept Acura that already belongs to someone, at that."

“Actually,” Stiles cuts in,” that’s why I got drunk last night. No more well-kept Acura for Scott.”

“Argent finally grew a pair, then. Good on her.” Lydia’s tone is light, but there’s clear tension in every syllable. “Hey Danny? If I key Chad’s car to get out some of this pent-up aggression, will –“

“ _Chad_?” Stiles interrupts. “Hold on a sec. Danny, you were dating a _Chad?_ Have you ever, _ever_ met a Chad who wasn’t a grade-A douche?”

“He seemed different!” Danny protests.

"His name is _Chad_ , Danny."

“Danny has been making horrible relationship decisions for as long as I’ve known him,” Lydia tells Stiles.

Danny smirks. “Coming from Mrs. Jackson Whittemore?”

She tosses her hair over one shoulder. “Please. One ongoing mistake versus your _fourteen_?”

“Hey, hey, it’s not my fault all the bad boys want me.”

Lydia claps her hands together. “Speaking of bad boys, how’s your freshly not-dead serial killer boyfriend, Stiles?”

He flashes a thumbs up at her. “Mixed signals abound, but also kissing! So there’s that.”

“Congratulations, Stilinski, you have the best relationship here,” Danny remarks dryly.

“Such an accomplishment, I’m honored.”

Lydia rests her head on her hands. “Kissing. Tell.”

Stiles does, even though there isn’t all that much new to share. It bleeds into him explaining what little he remembers from the night before, censored to avoid the whole werewolf issue. “And then I woke up in bed, fully clothed, and apparently Scott didn’t drive me home.”

“Because Derek did,” Danny says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. “Give me your phone.” Stiles does, hesitant, and Danny sends a quick text. The phone vibrates less than a minute later.

 _hey, thanks for last night_ , Danny’s text to Derek reads.

 _No problem at all. Sorry for the window exit; I heard Scott coming up the stairs. You were pretty fucked up – you okay?_ Danny reads the message out loud to Lydia, who laughs.

“You two are _precious_ ,” she coos.

“Shut up,” Stiles mumbles.

 

They spend almost an hour after that just eating and talking. Lydia people-watches aggressively, commenting on _every_ fashion faux pas they see, while Danny tries to give Stiles advice from what Lydia calls the Fellow Homosexual Perspective - Danny protests, but still offers  tidbits like “never send him haikus about his body parts, because that was _so_ fucking creepy, albeit creative” and “mm, steal his leather jacket, he’d totally be into that. Serial killer types are usually pretty possessive.” Stiles to figure out how he'd manage that, and comes to the conclusion that Derek would sooner chop of Stiles's hands than actually _share_ something.

The conversation eventually shifts to anti-Jackson strategies.

“I’ll make out with him again,” Danny offers. “He’s always extra vulnerable when he has his sexuality crises.”

Stiles makes a face. “You made out with _Jackson_? I want to hear this story.”

Lydia waves a hand. “It was high school; all is forgiven. This, however, is college, and you can keep your hands off my man.”

“Make out with Allison?” Danny suggests to Lydia.

“Make out with _Scott_.” Stiles’s voice cracks on Scott’s name, and he and Danny dissolve into fits of laughter.

 

“Oh my god, Lydia, I was _kidding!_ ”

She shrugs. “He started it.”

 

The night after the full moon, he crawls into bed, totally exhausted. He’s asleep in minutes, but it doesn’t last long.

He hears the window open, and his hand is on the wolfsbane-dipped knife under his pillow - preparedness, not paranoia - before his eyes are even open.

“Stiles.” He can hear the laugh in Derek’s whisper. “Put down the knife.”

"How do I know you're not going to kill me?"

"Stiles." He feels the bed dip when Derek sits on it. "I'm not going to kill you, ever. I promise."

Stiles tucks the knife under his pillow again. “In that case, what are you doing here?”

“The county kicked me out of my house. Apparently it’s unfit for habitation.”

Stiles looks at the clock. “It’s two in the fucking morning. You couldn’t have told me earlier?”

“My car wasn't as comfortable as I'd expected. Are you going to let me sleep on your floor or not?”

“For the love of _god_ , Derek,” Stiles mumbles. He pushes the blankets aside and pats the space next to him. “Get in.”

“You sure?”

“It's two AM and I owe you one. Come on, snuggle with me.” There’s not a lot of room in the bed once Derek strips down to his boxers and gets in, which means Stiles ends up half on top of Derek. Not that either one of them is complaining. Derek starts to say something, but Stiles stops him. “Nope, shut up, we’re sleeping now.” Stiles tucks his head in the crook of Derek's neck and presses a kiss there before getting comfortable enough to sleep.

He’ll deal with everything in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a few orders of business:  
> \- rogue (pr1nc3ssp34ch) came back, so a major shoutout to her as usual.  
> \- you guys are all still the coolest  
> \- i love you all.


	20. Chapter 20

Stiles wakes up with a boner. Which is nothing new, but it’s pressed against Derek Hale’s hip. And that part? That part is _very_ new.

“Time’s it?” Derek grumbles against Stiles’s neck.

Stiles glances at his watch. “Seven twenty.”

“You don’t have class for another hour. Go back to sleep.” Derek tightens his arms around Stiles and slides a hand up the back of his shirt, rubbing small circles against Stiles’s spine.

“Kind of creepy that you know my schedule.”

“You talk a lot. We've gone over this before.” Derek’s hand is now resting just under the waistband of Stiles’s boxers.

Stiles makes a half-hearted attempt to swat it away. “Stop it, asshole. I’m going back to sleep, remember?”

“Mmhmm,” Derek mumbles. Stiles shifts into a more comfortable sleeping position, and _oh._

“You’re hard,” he observes.

“No shit, Sherlock.” Derek rolls his hips against Stiles for a moment before sliding down to kiss him on the neck.

“You’re really bad at this whole ‘going back to sleep’ thing.”

“Mmhmm.”

“That’s going to leave a mark, you know.”

“Don’t care.”

Stiles pushes him away. “Nope, nope, nope. I support the kissing, wholeheartedly, but hickeys are a _hassle._ ” He rearranges their bodies so he can kiss Derek properly. “But kissing is good. Progress. Are you going to jump out the window again this time?”

Derek laughs softly and slides his hand further into Stiles’s boxers. Which is _awesome_.

And then Derek sits bolt upright.

“What?”

“Scott just got back. He got you coffee and scones,” Derek says softly in Stiles’s ear.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. We are the poster children of coitus interruptus.”

“Yo, Stiles, I got breakfast!” Scott calls from the kitchen.

Stiles grabs the shitty spray deodorant on his dresser and sprays himself with way too much. Derek makes a face as Stiles hurriedly pulls on pants.

“See you later, Derek. Go do creepy werewolf things,” Stiles murmurs before pressing a kiss to Derek’s forehead and heading out to the kitchen.

Scott offers Stiles a scone and Stiles takes it, half grateful for the food, half _really fucking annoyed._

Scott wrinkles his nose. “Why do you smell like a middle school locker room?”

Stiles shrugs. “Didn’t feel like showering.”

“You smell _awful._ ”

“Yeah, I realize that. Shower's looking like a better plan by the second.. What’s up?”

“I’m pretty sure Harris is the alpha.”

“What? Why?”

“He’s just obviously a terrible human being. Or non-human. Whatever.”

“I agree with that entirely, but a horrible personality does not an alpha make.”

Scott groans. “He scheduled a test for _the day before thanksgiving break._ Speaking of, want to help me study?”

 

When Stiles goes back into his room before class, Derek is asleep in his bed, snoring lightly. Stiles grabs a pen and a scrap of paper to leave note.

_you are a giant pile of poop. scott won’t be around again until 3:45. help yourself to food in the fridge. but don't eat it ALL because that'd be mad suspicious. i'll probs be back around noon, but lydia might pull me into a lunch date and you know how those go. i'm guessing you have mysterious werewolf shit to do but wake me up when you get back from that_

_< 3 stiles_

 

Lydia does indeed pull him into a lunch date, which lasts the two hours before his next class. When he finally makes it back to the apartment, Derek’s gone, but there’s a note written on the back of Stiles’s earlier one.

 _Giant pile of poop? What are you, five? I’m off doing “mysterious werewolf shit,” but I’ll try to be back before your bedtime._ Stiles scowls. _Also, I stole the last scone. Deal._

_I refuse to sign this with a heart._

_Derek_

 

“Dude, we’re so fucked.” Scott pushes the chemistry textbook off of their table. It lands on the floor with a loud thud. “I give up.”

“I feel you, man.”

“Want to go get shitfaced?”

“It’s four o’clock on a Thursday, Scott. Who gets shitfaced on a _Thursday afternoon_?”

“We do, last I checked. Thirsty Thursday, dude.” Scott shrugs.

“Can you even get drunk?”

“Okay, that’s fair. What’s the second law of thermodynamics again?”

Stiles answers him, and they spend the next two hours quizzing each other, eventually giving up because it’s getting late, and “there’s no winning with this bullshit,” in Scott’s words.

Derek reads Stiles’s textbook out loud to Stiles as he falls asleep.

Stiles kicks the test’s ass, and then gets smashed with Lydia and Danny, because Scott _can’t even get drunk anymore._ He makes a mental note to ask Derek about that later before grabbing another drink out of Lydia’s hands.

 

He gets back to the apartment around 2:30 AM and stumbles into his bedroom. He’s not _entirely_ trashed at this point, so he’s _pretty_ sure Derek’s not a hallucination this time.

“You’re real, right?” He’s not 100% sure, still.

Derek laughs. “I’m real.”

“But a hallucination would say that!”

“Just go to sleep, Stiles.”

So Stiles does. He tucks himself in, with a little help from Derek, who curls up beside him. “You should come to Stilinski Thanksgiving,” he mumbles. “Forever and ever. You ditch your werewolf angst, we get married. It’s an awesome plan.”

He’s asleep before Derek can reply.

 

“Up and at ‘em, tiger.” Stiles can hear Derek trying not to laugh.

“Shut the fuck up.” He’s not amused. “It’s like, five AM,” he groans into the pillow. “Go intimidate Scott or find the alpha or something.”

“It’s almost noon. And Scott already left, with Allison. He left you a note and some leftover pancakes. Do you want some aspirin?” Stiles nods, face still in the pillow.

He hears Derek leave the room, and is nearly asleep again by the time Derek gets back with Motrin. Groaning, he rolls over and takes the pills from Derek and swallows them dry. “I miss Scott having nastier hangovers than mine,” he grumbles. “Why can’t werewolves get drunk? Ugh.”

“Because we –“

“That was a rhetorical question. Less rhetorical – how do I get Scott drunk now?

“I don’t trust you with that knowledge.”

“You suck.” Derek just hands him a glass of water with a smirk. Sitting up takes work, but Stiles manages. “So, you can keep staying here while Scott and I are gone, I guess. I’ll leave you the keys; abuse the fridge as you will. And by that I mean keep it stocked and don’t ruin anything. _Capisce_?”

“Sounds good.”

“Anyway, I promised my dad I’d be around by one, so I should shower and head out. Okay?”

“Okay.”

So Stiles showers, loads his car, and kisses Derek goodbye.

 

He can’t sleep that night, so he texts Derek, because werewolves are great at spooning.

 

They sleep together every night that week, with Derek jumping out the window early every morning. It’s the best way to spend the night, even if they never go past light groping. Stiles knows they should be figuring things out, hunting for the alpha,  but it’s a nice break from the world. And nobody’s dying, so that’s certainly a plus. One of many things to be thankful for, Stiles thinks on Thursday morning. He pours himself a bowl of cereal and sits down across from his dad.

“I picked up the turkey already, but you know I can’t work that damn oven. And the McCalls are doing sides and dessert.” Stiles nods, ready for turkey day prep.

 

It’s one of his favorite days of the year, for obvious reasons – it lets him spend time with his dad, as well as Melissa and Scott, and the sense of family is borderline overwhelming. Melissa is hurriedly prepping the squash while Scott sneaks bites of the brownie batter, and they’re all laughing, even though they’re off schedule by almost an hour when the timer for the turkey goes off.

Stiles pulls out, and it looks fucking _awesome_ , made to his mom’s old specifications. He’s glad they get to have her there, in the form of her recipes, and it makes everything a little more complete when they all sit down in the dining room. The table is cleared off of all of John’s papers, and they even have two candles out, with the traditional centerpiece of bits of nature that Scott found outside and glued together – a tradition that started when the boys were eight that never really stopped.

Stiles is pouring his gravy when the doorbell rings. “What the hell,” he grumbles, already making his way to the door.

“I made potatoes,” Derek says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Stilinski-McCall Thanksgiving.
> 
> (This one was betaed by rae (chainsandshipsexciteme) again.)


	21. Chapter 21

“You…made potatoes,” Stiles says slowly. Derek nods. “You made potatoes.”

“Yes, Stiles, I made potatoes.” Derek rolls his eyes and holds up the glass dish in his hands. Which appears to indeed contain potatoes.

“ _Why?_ ”

“Because bringing a dish is the polite thing to do when you – “

“You’re joining us for dinner.”

“Yes?”

“Holy shit, why would you inflict that upon yourself. Um. Scott and Melissa are here too. So maybe you should –“

He’s cut off by his dad showing up behind him. “Derek?”

“Derek,” Stiles confirms.

“Are those potatoes?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did you just call my dad –“

“You made potatoes?”

“I made potatoes.”

“For our thanksgiving dinner?” John asks.

“Yes.”

John looks at Stiles and raises his eyebrows. “Dad, it’s not like he has anywhere else to go.” Derek shoots him a glare, but Stiles just shrugs. “The more the merrier?”

John closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before gesturing for Derek to come in. Stiles takes the potatoes and leads the way to the dining room.

When Derek steps into the room, Scott already has his jaw clenched, and Stiles can see a little bit of claw digging into the armrests Scott’s gripping. “What. The fuck. Is he doing here.”

Melissa hits him with her napkin. “Scott,” she says, disapproving mom voice in full effect.

“Sorry,” Scott mutters, not looking sorry at all.

“He made potatoes,” Stiles offers.

“You made _potatoes_?” The disbelief on Scott’s face is comical.

Stiles sits down and swipes a bite of potatoes out of the dish with a finger. “ _Good_ potatoes,” he declares. “Damn.” They’re better than Scott’s. Derek’s expression is somewhere between pleased and constipated.

John pulls in a chair from the kitchen and Derek squeezes in between Melissa and Stiles. Melissa resumes the story she was telling about one of her more ridiculous patients. Derek laughs in all the right places, but Stiles can hear that it’s forced. Scott, meanwhile, isn’t even trying to hide his glare, which is only interrupted by the occasional questioning glance at Stiles. The tension is palpable, and in the silence after Melissa’s story, Stiles is pretty sure he hears Derek _growling_ quietly, so he kicks him under the table, repeatedly, until Derek stops.

Scott’s directly across from Stiles, though, and so Stiles can’t really do more than try to get him to talk about lacrosse and classes, but those topics only get one-word answers until Melissa gets up to refill their pitcher of water and tells Scott to follow her.

Stiles doesn’t have werewolf hearing, but he can still get the gist of her speech – Derek’s a guest, he has nowhere else to go, et cetera. When they get back, Scott’s a little bit less hostile to Derek, and even asks him to pass the butter at one point. So Stiles considers that progress.

Derek’s passing himself off as a socially acceptable human being and charming the pants off of Melissa, whipping out his toothpaste-commercial grin that only Stiles can tell is at least 85% forced and explaining that his Polish landlady in New York taught him how to make the (really fuckin’ delicious) potatoes. Even Scott laughs at one point in a story about Derek’s neighbor’s dog. It’s good. It’s really good, especially when Derek links his ankle around Stiles’s around under the table.

Eventually dinner itself wraps up. Stiles is hella ready to go food-coma, except that there’s still _dessert._ And Melissa McCall’s pies are a force to be reckoned with. So John sends Stiles to go get the pies ready to serve and to bring them in, and Stiles drags Derek after him for a little extra help.

“Thanks,” Derek says as he cuts the strawberry rhubarb. Stiles raises an eyebrow. “For inviting me.”

“To be fair, I was drunk.” It’s the wrong thing to say, Stiles realizes as Derek’s smile disappears. “But for what it’s worth,” he rushes to add, “I’m glad you came.” _I’m glad you’re not alone on Thanksgiving_ , he wants to say, but he doesn’t think Derek would take that well.

“Do you really have four pies for four people?” Derek asks, incredulous.

“Hey, we have five people! And we wouldn’t want to exclude any classic pie flavors.”

“You were only planning on four people.” Derek raises an eyebrow and leans on the counter.

“Yeah, well, we now have two werewolves.” Stiles rests his hands on Derek’s hips. “These pies will be gone like _that._ Dibs on at least half of the strawberry rhubarb, though.”

Derek laughs, and then he leans in, and then they’re kissing. It’s not the kind of kissing that feels like it’s going somewhere – it’s just pleasant, gentle kissing. And Stiles loves it, loves that he can feel Derek smiling a little against his lips, loves that they’re more or less the same height.

He’s caught up enough in it that it takes him a second to process when there’s the sound of something falling with a clang.

“Holy shit!” he hears. He turns to see Melissa standing in the doorway, plates on the ground directly in front of her.

“You okay, Mom?” Scott calls from the other room. She shouts back that she’s fine, and then raises her eyebrows and makes her best _explain this right now_ face.

“Um, we, um.” Nine times out of ten, Stiles can pull a decent excuse out of his ass. This is apparently not one of those times.

He’s saved by Scott showing up in the doorway behind his mom. “What happened?”

“I tripped,” Melissa says. Scott makes a face, and Stiles knows he can hear the lie, but the subject gets dropped after Melissa confirms, again, that she’s okay.

They all bring the pies back, and although Scott keeps looking between Melissa and Stiles, confused, they somehow all overcome the weird tension and just appreciate the damn good pie. The laughter’s all a little more forced than before, and John and Scott are definitely both a little baffled, but it still feels like family, so that’s something. They get a system going for cleanup after the pie, and eventually everything’s clean, leftovers split between the Stilinski fridge and a bag for the McCalls to take home. There’s even a smaller bag destined for the apartment everyone’s convinced Derek has.

Somehow Derek gets invited to stay for their movie night, and Stiles ends up sandwiched between him and Scott on their couch, which was clearly _not_ designed for three grown men. Which does mean that he gets to be pressed against Derek, but it also means he has to keep his heartbeat in check. Meanwhile, Scott’s continued confusion and curiosity is a thing Stiles has to worry about. All that means he’s not paying any attention to the movie, and he’s not entirely surprised when Scott drags him out and to the kitchen halfway through.

“Stiles, dude, what the fuck.” Stiles gestures for him to elaborate. “Derek Hale. Thanksgiving. Also, why does my mom keep looking at you weirdly?”

“Um. Okay. So.” His phone starts ringing, and it’s the best sound he’s ever heard. “It’s Lydia, I should take this. Hold on.” He answers the call. “Hey, what’s up?

He can barely make out Lydia’s words when they all come out in a rush. All he gets out of it is _mountain lion_ and _Allison,_ so he asks her to repeat herself, this time on speaker.

He can hear Lydia take a deep breath in an effort to compose herself. “Allison got attacked by a mountain lion. She’s in the hospital, and I think she’d really appreciate it if Scott would fucking _hurry._ ”

Scott is out the door before Lydia hangs up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Starting...soon, we're going to get a lot more canon divergent. A few elements are going to stay the same, like some major plot points, but a lot has to change to make sense in this universe, and I've decided to stop fighting that. So. Leaving canon behind pretty soon, if that's okay with you guys. If it's not, please say something! I'll do my best to listen.
> 
> It would appear that the lovely pr1nc3ssp34ch has vanished, and so Rae (chainsandshipsexciteme on tumblr) has stepped into the role of primary sounding board and beta! So major shoutout to her, as well as the three lovely ladies who have joined the squad since this chapter was posted. I should make you guys badges.
> 
> As always, I can be found at hanniballsdeep on tumblr.
> 
> Thank you all so much for everything.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LET'S GET SOME ACTION GOING
> 
> PLOT TRAIN IS GOING PLACES.

Melissa peeks her head into the kitchen. “Did Scott just leave? In my car?”

“Allison’s in the hospital,” Stiles says, still in shock. “Mountain lion.”

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit.” Melissa runs her hands through her hair. “I should go after him. Right? Allison’s basically family. Right? Yeah.” She pauses to take a deep breath. “John?” she calls.

He appears in the doorway behind her. “What’s wrong?”

Stiles heads back into the living room while Melissa fills his dad in on the situation. He sits on the couch and tucks himself under Derek’s arm, just enough to ground himself a little bit. “So you know how things have been weirdly, freakishly calm for the past few weeks? Not so much now.”

“I’ve been listening. Argent-alpha scuffle, not that unusual.”

“Derek. It’s _Allison._ ”

Derek sighs. “Look, Stiles, I know that her being Scott’s girlfriend makes her important to you. But in case you forgot, she _shot_ me last month. I don’t actually care if –“

“Can you _not_ be a dick right now? Allison matters to _me_ , and I’m pretty sure hunting down the alpha does matter to both of us, even if it’s been put on hold lately. So can we at least –“

John clears his throat in the doorway. “I’m taking Melissa to the hospital. You coming, Stiles?”

“I’ll, uh, probably head that way soon. Gotta finish something up first.”

“You…you do that.” John nods, and rests a hand on Melissa’s back as they head out the door.

As soon as they’re out, Stiles turns to face Derek more directly. “Look, it’s not like the alpha’s making your life a better place right now. So can we _please_ work together and take down this son of a bitch?”

“What do we have to work with?”

 

 

When they look, there’s not actually a lot. The police investigations have turned up jack shit, and there isn’t really much to go on.

“I mean, basically nothing’s happened since he almost killed you at the school.” Derek makes a sound of agreement as he flips through Stiles’s folder of things related to werewolves (conveniently labeled as “Folder of Wolfy Goodness!”). “Unless it’s a _she_. Ooh, plot twist.”

“It’s a male, Stiles.”

“Great, then. No developments.”

“What exactly happened to you that night, by the way?”

Derek shrugs. “Wounds from an alpha just take longer to heal, and by the time I checked, the two of you were out of the school.”

“The five of us,” Stiles corrects.

“Five of you?”

“Yes, dumbass, five of us. How were you not aware of this information? Scott and I were there, and then Allison and Lydia got those fake texts from Scott’s number, and Jackson tagged along, and clusterfuck! And then I wallowed for days, plural, because I thought you were dead.”

“Fake texts?”

And _oh_ , that’s something

 

 

Danny lets himself in the front door. “Stiles, what’s so important that I have to be at your house at 10:30 on Thanksgiving?” he calls up the stairs.

“Danny, you are my lord and savior!” Stiles shouts back. “Just get up here.”

Danny leans against the doorframe. “What is it?”

“So you know how you know how to trace a text?”

Danny raises his eyebrows. “I know no such thing.”

“My dad’s a cop, Danny, I can see your arrest record.” Stiles flashes him a thumbs-up.

Danny rolls his eyes and sits in Stiles’s desk chair. “I’m going to need the ISP, phone number, and exact time of the text.” He jerks his head toward where Derek is sitting on the bed. “Are you going to introduce me to your boyfriend or not?”

“Danny, this is Miguel, King of Brooding.”

Derek looks up from the Folder of Wolfy Goodness. “What.” It’s not even a question.

“Long story,” Stiles and Danny say at the same time.

“Anyway, does that look doable?” Stiles asks Danny, pointing at the computer.

Danny nods. “Yeah, give me, like, five minutes. Also, you owe me for this.”

“Big time.”

Danny starts typing and opening web pages Stiles can’t even begin to understand, so he zones out and stares at Derek’s jawline for a bit, then tries to straighten the books on his shelves, because he can’t sit still.

Danny spins his chair around. “Question about the text. Is there – Derek, is there _blood_ on your shirt?”

Derek looks down, then lifts his shirt to sniff the discolored patch. “Cranberry sauce.”

Stiles throws him a slightly too-large shirt from one of his drawers, then watches appreciatively as Derek changes into it. Danny’s watching too, eyebrows raised. “Stilinski, your boy has haiku-worthy abs.”

Stiles laughs. “Damn right he does.” Derek scowls, and Danny gets back to work.

“Got it,” he finally says, pointing to the screen. Stiles leans over his shoulder to see that the text traces to Melissa McCall’s account on a computer at the Beacon Hills Hospital Long-Term Care Unit.

“You sure?” Stiles asks.

“Positive,” Danny answers.

 

 

Scott calls while Stiles and Derek are driving to the hospital. “Hey, man, how’s she doing?” Stiles asks.

“She’s going to be fine. There was a lot of blood, but she just needed stitches and heavy-duty painkillers. Where are you?”

“I’m guessing that it wasn’t a literal mountain lion, though?”

“No, of course not.”

“Well, I’m…checking out a thing. I’ll, uh, I’ll come find you when I’m done.”

“Okay, Stiles –“

Stiles hangs up and parks the jeep.

“You didn’t tell him about his mom,” Derek points out.

“Melissa? Definitely not an alpha werewolf. So no, not until we find out the truth.”

“Oh, and by the way, one more thing?”

And then Derek’s kissing Stiles, and it’s got a tiny edge to it that feels like it might be an apology, or a thank you, but the other 95% of the kiss just feels like straight-up foreplay. And as much as Stiles loves – _really_ loves – having Derek’s tongue in his mouth, there are alphas to be dethroned, crimes to be fought.

“What the hell was that for?” Stiles asks with a laugh.

“You know what that was for.”

“A promise that we’re totally going to have sex once we take this motherfucker down?”

Derek rolls his eyes and points toward the door. “Go.”

It’s not a no. Stiles takes it as a good thing.

 

 

“Remind me why you’re not in here with me?” Stiles says to Derek over the phone. “Empty hospitals are freaking creepy.”

“Have you figured out which computer it was?”

“Nope.”

“Find Jennifer. She’s the nurse who’s been looking after my uncle.”

Stiles turns a corner, looking for Peter Hale’s room to see if she’s in there. She’s not, and _neither is Peter_. “Derek,” Stiles says, as calmly as he can manage. “Your uncle isn’t here.”

Derek swears, loudly. “Stiles, you need to get the fuck out of there. He’s the alpha. Get. Out.”

Stiles starts running, but as soon as he turns the corner, he’s blocked. Based on the facial scars and the descriptions from Derek, he’s pretty sure this is Peter Hale.

“You must be Stiles,” Peter says, weirdly cheery. “I’ve heard _so_ much about you.”

Stiles really wasn’t planning on dying tonight. So this is just peachy. “Great. That’s just great.” He turns to look for a way out, but there’s a woman behind him. Jennifer, he assumes.

“No, no, stay. Let’s chat,” Peter says.

Stiles takes a deep breath. “Afternoon tea with everyone’s favorite murderer. Awesome.”

“Is it really _murder_ , though? Those people –“

Stiles is the son of a cop. None of this shit is getting past him. “You killed people. It was premeditated. Last I checked, that’s murder.”

“Mmm, I see what all the fuss is about. Hello, Derek,” Peter says, right as Derek shows up to knock the nurse unconscious.

“That wasn’t very nice. But I like him,” Peter declares. It’s not reassuring in the slightest. “And Derek, I like that you’re protecting those you love. Which, ultimately, is what I’ve been doing.” He pauses, and Derek lunges for him. Peter blocks the attack easily, and keeps talking. Stiles tries to back away.  “No, technically, I’ve been avenging them. But you understand.”

“What about Laura?” Derek asks between blows.

“You think I killed Laura on purpose? One of my own family?” There’s more fighting. It’s not pretty.

Derek blocks a blow. “Stiles, you need to _go_.”

“My mind, my personality were literally burned out of me.” Derek takes a precious second to jerk his head toward the door. It gives Peter the chance to land a hit on Derek’s neck. It looks brutal.

Stiles isn’t proud of it, but he runs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major shoutout to the entire nineteen-helper squad! (chainsandshipsexciteme, spacebabenumber-25, prettygirlbpd, and ironmaidenbaby). All of them are wonderful and totally worth following.
> 
> Thanks again to everyone who reads this C: You guys are the BOMB.


	23. Chapter 23

Stiles’s hands are shaking as he starts his car and pulls out of the parking lot. He drums his fingers on the wheel as he drives – too fast – to the main part of the hospital and parks across two spaces in the ER lot.

It’s not a busy night, thankfully, so he has no trouble finding Allison’s room. He recognizes her dad and a woman he thinks might be her aunt standing outside the door, speaking quietly to one another. It looks intense, probably some hunter bullshit, and he realizes that he could tell them, right now, that the alpha is two buildings away, that his name is Peter Hale. But he knows that he _can’t_ , because Derek’s with Peter, and there’s no line between _good werewolves_ and _bad werewolves_ in the Argents’ book. So he sighs and waves to Chris, who smiles back and gestures for Stiles to go into the room.

“Hey,” Allison says when Stiles closes the door. Her entire left side is bruised and patched up, but she’s definitely all in one piece.

Stiles collapses into the chair next to her bed. “Hey. Where’s Scott?”

“He left once he knew I was okay.” She shrugs. “Said he was going back to your apartment.” She says something else, but Stiles is thinking, because he was hoping to team up with Scott here, regroup, maybe try to do some damage to the alpha, but now Scott’s a twenty-minute drive away, and that makes things harder. But if he can leave _now_ – 

“Stiles?”

“Sorry, uh, thinking.” He waves his hands around to try to illustrate the mess of thoughts in his mind. “What were you saying?”

“Nothing, nothing.” She starts to say something else, then pauses, then tries again. “Never mind.” But she looks worried – really, truly worried, and he knows she knows that shit’s going down in Beacon Hills, so he’s pretty sure whatever she’s concerned about is relevant.

“Allison, you know you can talk to me about anything, right?” He wants to go, he really does – he wants to run and call Scott and make sure Derek’s okay, but Allison knows things he doesn’t, and if she’ll share at all, he’ll listen.

“I’m not sure – ” she starts, before taking a deep breath and trying again. “Scott’s a werewolf, isn’t he.” It’s not a question.  She begins to say something about not hurting him, but Stiles cuts her off.

“Yeah, he is.” It seems pointless to deny it, so he doesn’t try.

Allison nods. “Okay. Okay. Please don’t tell him I know.” She closes her eyes for a moment and takes a deep breath. “You should go.”

“Yeah.” He stands and heads for the door. “I hope you feel better soon. Fucking werewolves, am I right?”

Allison laughs softly. “Goodbye, Stiles.”

“The alpha’s name is Peter Hale,” he blurts out, one hand on the doorknob. “Derek Hale and Scott are his only betas and neither one of them has done _anything_ wrong. But Peter?” He thinks of Laura. “Do your worst.”

He leaves without waiting for a reply.

 

 

He speeds across Beacon Hills to get to his apartment, even though he’s not really sure what he’ll do when he gets there. No doubt Derek and Peter are long gone from the hospital, so there’s no reason to head back there, and he’s not going to tell Scott that Allison knows.

Still, he pulls into his usual spot and sprints up the two flights of steps to their apartment. When he throws the door open, Scott’s sitting on the couch, staring off into space.

“Dude, we have a huge problem,” Stiles tells him.

“Trust me, I know.”

 

 

“Yeah, but Peter killed Derek’s sister. I don’t get how that could’ve been an _accident_ ,” Scott says. They’re sitting on the floor in the living room, trying to piece all of their information together.

“It wasn’t. It definitely wasn’t.” Stiles is _certain_. “And I don’t know why Derek would _believe_ him.”

Scott shrugs. “Bonds of family, I guess. They’re pack; Peter _is_ technically Derek’s alpha, on top of being his uncle.”

“Laura was his alpha first,” Stiles says quietly. “For _twelve years_. And his sister, Scott.”

“Peter’s been my alpha in the loosest sense of the word since August, and he still almost got me to kill you,” Scott points out. “He’s probably got a lot more influence over Derek, who has, like, nobody in his life.” Stiles is a little weirded out by Scott defending Derek, until he adds, “Serves him right, though, for being an _asshole_. Maybe the Argents will kill him.” He sounds a little bit gleeful at the idea.

Stiles takes a deep breath. He knows more about Derek and the way he thinks than probably anyone else who’s still alive, and he knows a fair amount about the Hales – and the fire that killed them all – from his late-night talks in bed with Derek. And that’s valuable information to them right now, even if he has to tell Scott about what’s been going on for the better part of a year. “Look, Scott,” he starts, right as Scott says, “Oh! Speaking of!” They simultaneously apologize for interrupting each other, and Stiles waves it off.

“You first, man.”

Scott nods. “I was listening to the Argents while I was at the hospital, and they think Jackson’s the second beta.”

Stiles sucks in a deep breath. “Motherfucker. Are they going to do anything about it?” He doesn’t know how much of an influence Allison has, or how much she can influence her family’s actions without revealing the beta’s actual identity.

“Probably. We should keep an eye on him for the next few weeks. Anyway, what were you saying?”

Stiles runs a hand through his hair. They have other things to worry about, now. He can tell Scott later. “Nothing. Never mind.”

 

 

_look this is going to sound weird but can you stay with jackson for the next couple of days_

Lydia replies immediately. _Stiles, we broke up again last week_.

_so offer blowjobs. really sorry i can’t explain right now but i swear to god it’s super important_

_You owe me._

_don't i always?_

_How’s Derek?_

Stiles doesn’t reply.

 

 

Stiles hates this. He hates sitting around, waiting for something to happen. He wants to go out, hunt down Peter and Derek, but there are no signs pointing toward them, and nothing is happening. At all.

He’s trying to focus on his lit homework when his phone buzzes with a message from Allison. _Hey, Stiles, can we talk?_

 _sure, what’s up?_ He’s curious.

_Can you meet me at the Starbucks near the student center?_

He sends back a _yes_ and grabs his bag.

 

 

“I don’t know,” Allison starts when he sits down with a hot chocolate. He raises his eyebrows, looking for clarification. “I don’t know what’s going on in my life, and it seems like you’re the best person to talk to now. I…I don’t know,” she repeats. Her hands are shaking, so he grabs one of them and squeezes. She smiles at him, just a little bit.

“Okay. Okay. What’s going on?”

“My dad thinks Jackson’s the second beta. And I think my aunt wants to kill him? Which…it’s not Jackson, and _I_ know that, but if I tell them, then Kate will just want to kill Scott. And yeah, I’m not exactly Scott’s #1 fan right now, but.” She lets out a humorless laugh. “I don’t want him _dead_ , Stiles.”

Stiles nods. “Our lives are _ridiculous_.” His phone vibrates then, so he pulls it out of his pocket and glances at the screen. “Son of a bitch,” he mutters when he reads Lydia’s message.

“What’s going on?” Allison’s eyes are wide.

“Your dad is at Jackson’s apartment.” He’s putting on his coat before he’s done talking.

Allison grabs her purse and raises her eyebrows at him. “Let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> super shoutout to ironmaidenbaby on tumblr for being the primary beta for this guy, and to everyone else who helped me churn it out.
> 
> a few orders of business:  
> \- engineering school sucks so updates are a little harder  
> \- i now have a side project that is this story from derek's pov! this one will be my main focus, of course, but that and my fem!kirk star trek fic (and the star trek superhero au that is going to knock all of your socks off) are my For Funsies fics right now, and that one might be of interest to some of you!  
> \- my url on tumblr is now nonsexualandspooky, for the month of spooky!
> 
> thank you all for sticking with this story.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well goddamn i wrote a chapter
> 
> also fun fact this fic is now officially the longest thing i have ever written! 
> 
> as a celebration, i went back and edited all of the old chapters. deleted the one that was totally canon, added more things that i think are clever, fixed a few confusing word choices, whatever. but in my opinion, chapters 1 through 20 are now better. thanks for sticking with me through some of the questionable writing early on, all of you.

Stiles texts Scott while they’re on the way – _dude get to jackson’s asap_

“Texting while driving? And speeding? Your dad must be so proud,” Allison teases, making a face at him. He tosses his phone into her lap.

“You know, I think there are other things that are more likely to kill us than traffic accidents right about now, so.”

She snorts. “Texting Lydia now, letting her know we’re on our way.”

“God, she must be so confused by all of this shit.”

“Either that or she’s figured everything out and is halfway to taking over the world.”

“Yeah, that’s distinctly possible.”

Allison points. “That’s Jackson’s street.” Stiles yanks on the wheel and turns in, wheels skidding a little bit on the turn. He pulls into the right driveway and bolts up the stairs, Allison close behind him.

When they get to the top of the stairs, Stiles pushes the door open. He’s briefly overwhelmed by the pretentious douchebag vibe the room gives off before he takes in the scene – Chris Argent leaning against the island in the kitchen area, Jackson sprawled on the couch with Lydia perched behind him, and Scott trying really hard to look casual while sitting on one of the leather chairs near the TV.

“Allison?” Scott and Chris say in unison.

“Hey! Um, Lydia, I have your stuff.”

Lydia looks briefly confused, but rolls with it. “Awesome, thank you.”

“What?” Jackson asks.

“It’s nothing dad-friendly,” Lydia says, with a wink at Jackson. “You’ll see later, don’t worry,” she tells him before grabbing Allison’s hand and leading her into another room.

Stiles breaks the brief uncomfortable silence. “So, Chris, what are you doing here?”

“I was actually just leaving,” Chris says, looking at Scott. “I was in the neighborhood and saw that someone had left a dent in Jackson’s car. Thought I’d let him know.”

Stiles grins up at him, as obnoxiously bright as he can manage. “Wow, that’s really nice of you!”

Chris nods. “I can recommend a mechanic if you’d like. For now, I’ll leave you kids alone.” He nods awkwardly, then heads out the door. Scott relaxes, and Allison and Lydia come back.

“Does anyone want to tell me what the hell that was all about?” Lydia says. “I’m not exactly a fan of being kept in the dark.”

“Um,” Scott starts, looking from Lydia to Jackson to Allison, panicked.

“There’s a good explanation for this, I swear,” Stiles says.

“For why you’ve had me basically stalking my boyfriend for the last three days?”

“One, I’m not your boyfriend. Two, you’ve been _stalking_ me?”

Scott throws his hands in the air. “You were in danger! What were we supposed to do?”

“Wait, what?” Jackson nearly jumps out of his seat. “I’m in _danger_? What the hell is going on?”

“Um,” Scott says again.

Allison, now sitting on the couch, rolls her eyes. “Scott’s a werewolf,” she announces.

There’s a moment of dead silence, where everyone stares at her, and then Lydia raises an eyebrow, Jackson starts laughing, and Scott blurts out, “You _knew_?”

“Cute, guys.” Lydia clearly doesn’t believe it, and Jackson’s still laughing.

“Is he okay?” Stiles asks.

“He’s _fine_. Now, can we please be serious? I’m getting really tired of your shit – all of you.”

“Lydia –” Allison starts.

“I got this.” Scott makes a face, and then he shifts.

Jackson stops laughing. “What the _fuck_ ,” he whispers.

Scott shifts back and shrugs. “Like she said, werewolf.”

Lydia looks taken aback, and then nods slowly. “That…actually makes some sense, in a twisted sort of way. How do the rest of you fit into this, though?”

Allison raises her hand to volunteer an answer. “My family is made up of werewolf hunters –”

“It’s a _blast_ ,” Stiles cuts in.

“Are you included in that group?” Lydia asks. Scott’s clearly interested in the answer too.

“I don’t know,” Allison admits. “I mean, _‘nous chassons ceux qui nouse chassent.’_ ”

“We hunt those who hunt us,” Lydia translates.

“I don’t know who’s hunting whom at this point, though.”

“Basically, we have three werewolves in Beacon Hills,” Stiles offers. “There’s Scott, and then there’s Derek Hale –” Lydia raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything. “– and then there’s the alpha, who turned Scott, and his name’s Peter Hale, and _he’s_ the bad guy, but Scott and Derek haven’t done anything wrong, I swear.”

“I don’t know about Derek,” Scott says.

Stiles sighs. “Yeah, okay, the Derek situation is a little unclear right now but he’s probably a good guy deep down.”

“Okay.” Lydia runs a hand through her hair and nods. “Okay,” she repeats, sounding more confident.

“Man, I _really_ thought it was steroids,” Jackson mutters.

 

 

“So Jackson really wants to become a werewolf,” Lydia tells Stiles over coffee the next day.

“Yeah, I got that, somehow, when he showed up at our apartment last night, you know, and spent two hours trying to get Scott to turn him. Pretty sure he knows better than to hunt down Peter, though.”

“I’m not positive.” Lydia purses her lips. “I’m trying to keep an eye on him, but he’s a little obsessive.”

“He’s convinced Scott can turn him and just _won’t_.”

“Well, that’s – _Stiles_.” Lydia’s eyes are wide.

“What?”

“What if he tries to get the bite from Derek instead?”

“Oh, _fuck_.”

 

He drops Lydia off at her apartment, because he wants to keep her safe, and then texts Scott.

_dude, you need to find jackson and track him – lydia thinks he’ll go to derek next_

_im on it_

 

 

Scott texts him that night. _hale house. dereks here_

A few minutes later, he gets another message – _argents. im hurt. jackson ran and i dont know where derk is_

 

 

Stiles curses the side roads as he weaves around potholes. The Hale house isn’t really that far out of town, but the drive there is awful, and by the time he pulls in, the house is empty, and he can’t see Scott anywhere.

“Scott?” he calls, quietly – if Scott’s conscious, he’ll hear. But Stiles doesn’t hear anything, so he calls Scott’s phone. And yep, there’s the sound of _Call Me, Beep Me_. Stiles snorts – he set that ringtone almost a year ago, and it’s still kind of funny – and then he runs towards it.

Scott is…really fucked up when Stiles finds him. He _is_ still conscious, but barely, and his wounds aren’t healing like they should. And his veins are turning black around the wounds. “Wolfsbane?” Stiles asks. Scott nods.

Stiles isn’t strong enough to carry Scott all the way to the jeep, so he runs back to it and drives closer, so that he can rip his lacrosse jersey – oh god, Finstock’s going to _kill_ him – and use the strips to temporarily bind the wounds. He manages to get Scott into the backseat.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he mutters. “Hospital. Right.” He pauses, thinks about how that would pan out, then reconsiders. He’s thinking out loud, using his own voice to calm himself. “But medical supplies. Fuck.”

“Deaton’s,” Scott groans from the backseat. “I have a key.”

Stiles nods, then winds through the back roads even faster than before. It only takes about fifteen minutes, with his complete disregard for the speed limit, but it _feels_ like forever. Scott’s unconscious by the time they get there, but Stiles digs the keys out of his pocket and unlocks the back door, dragging Scott by his arms.

“ _Fuck_.” He realizes that he doesn’t know what to _do_ once he gets medical supplies – the first aid class he took in tenth grade didn’t exactly cover this. “What do I do, what do I do,” he whispers, letting it be his mantra until he hears a cough from the doorway. He looks up, and _fuck_ , Deaton’s there. “This…isn’t what it looks like.”

“Yes it is,” Deaton says calmly. “Let me help.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to dom and rae for their help on this one. dom and i got a lot of planning for the next large chunk of this fic done this afternoon, so hopefully that'll help with the whole never updating ever thing. thank you all for sticking with this! because we're at 30k, and that's a LOT. you guys are wonderful.

**Author's Note:**

> More detailed summary: There is phone sex. There is Laura Hale. There is good stuff. Then shit hits the fan and there is Very Bad Stuff and suddenly a lot of season one happens and everything hurts a little bit. And then canon stops being a concern of mine at all, and things get a lot more interesting (in my opinion).
> 
> My wonderful wonderful helper squad changes a lot, so they're credited at the end of each chapter.
> 
> Also, see how this is part of a series? The other thing is the first part of this from Derek's perspective. So if you want more Laura, there will be a LOT of her there, even if it'll update even less frequently than this does. (So literally never)
> 
> This was originally for a prompt on the old TW kink meme:  
> "Stiles becomes a phone sex operator, for whatever reason. Derek both hates and loves this fact and proceeds to become his best customer. Most days they don't actually get around to having phone sex, but sometimes Stiles wears down Derek (and Derek secretly loves those times)."
> 
> Title from Tegan and Sara's _Nineteen_.
> 
> I read every comment, and I love you all.


End file.
